


Why Sparrows Were Outlawed In Camelot

by LivingInATimeOf_Myths



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Finds Out About Merlin’s Magic (Merlin), BAMF Gwen (Merlin), Canon Era, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone Loves Merlin (Merlin), Gen, Gwaine Being Gwaine (Merlin), Gwaine is a bro, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Idiots in Love, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Gwaine (Merlin), Sad Merlin (Merlin), So many tags, Sort Of, The Knights find out about Merlin's magic, Whump, a little contrived, and damnit he's not gonna let go till he's whole again, arthur broke merlin, arthur is just so so confused, but i need the room in my head to fight the fairies, gwaine has lots of sex with people, he almost kills him first, i pick on gwaine a lot, i'm mixing up fandoms left and right nowadays, it doesn't go so well in the beginning, it's a wild and lawless land out here folks, it's only cause i love him, let's be honest here, merlin is tired guys, partly arthur's fault, partly overreaction, percival actually speaks, percival is all about that, pretty horses, then happy merlin, they will be happy in the end, you fight those fairies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:09:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 49,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23617282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingInATimeOf_Myths/pseuds/LivingInATimeOf_Myths
Summary: Of all the ways Arthur and the knights could've found out about his magic, Merlin hadn't thought it'd be due to a sparrow.  There will be a happy ending, but it's gonna take a while."Arthur was terrified when he saw Merlin make up his mind to jump. He put on a burst of speed, willing his body to give everything he had so he could just-reach out and….He crashed at full speed into the warlock, knocking them both out of breath, but most importantly, far away from the edge of the ravine. Merlin fought him, kicking and clawing for escape, but it was clear that whatever had fueled him for so long was gone, and eventually the kicking and punching and shouting was gone, and Merlin wept in Arthur’s arms, trembling hard.“Sorry, so sorry, so so sorry. ‘M so sorry, Arthur,” he sobbed desperately, and Arthur held him close, heart racing and eyes wet. “I’m so sorry, please don’t burn me. I’m so sorry. I didn’ mean to, I was born with it.” Merlin cried, and Arthur shushed him gently."A huge thanks to the remarkable artists who have been generous enough to bless me with their work. Once I manage to figure out how to insert it, it will be up. Thank you xoxo
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 616
Kudos: 1672





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My second foray into this realm. It's a little plot bunny I've been thinking about and decided to plop onto a page instead of running it through my head every five seconds. Maybe a little cliched, but hopefully sweet and happy by the end. Well, first Merlin's gonna hurt a lot, but it'll end up worth it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As per recommendation, I am adding here, in the first chapter, that there are potential triggers for attempted suicide (brief and non-graphic, no blood) and just general misery for a while. If you feel like that's ok to read, please go ahead. If not, and you are concerned this might be bad for you, I recommend skipping Chapter Two, as that is when the attempt happens, or just do not read at all. No one's words are worth your pain. Be well. <3
> 
> If you're looking for some light funny stuff, I recommend this piece I wrote about Leon getting a sunburn!  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23626762/chapters/56702548

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amazing, beautiful, incredible artwork provided by Sunfall_of_Ennien, who I am forever grateful to for both support and this truly remarkable artwork. Link:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884504

“Merlin, mate, did I ever tell you of the time I had to leg out of the tavern I was staying in?” Gwaine called across the clearing to where Merlin was riding next to the king.

“Which time-the one with the those twins, or the one with the barmaid who had three thrupney bits?” Asked Percival, rubbing his massive shoulder with a wounded look towards Elyan, who had ridden up next to him only to smack him hard.

“What?” he asked, grouchy.“I never got to hear the end of the barmaid-Would you stop doing that!” Elyan had cuffed him round the head, and Percival ducked out of reach, thoroughly unbalancing himself and making his stallion snort irritably and stomp his feet warningly at his knight, which caused all three riders to stop immediately. Valens was a courageous and noble horse, but he had a nasty bite when he felt affronted.

“See, Perc, even your horse doesn’t want to hear about it.” Elyan noted when Percival finally got his stallion under control again.

“‘Sides, our little Merlin is much too innocent for this kind of talk,” teased Gwaine, coming up alongside the aforementioned servant. Even Elyan had to stifle a laugh when he saw how pink Merlin’s ears were, and how he had managed to pull his shoulders up past his ears in embarrassment. Gwaine practically cooed at him, and Merlin’s ears went from pink to bright red, until Leon finally took pity on him and said,

“Gwaine, everyone _but_ you is too innocent for _your_ stories.” Merlin looked up and beamed gratefully at Leon, who, despite himself, had to smile back.

“Well, that’s true enough, and Arthur probably won’t like me corrupting his innocent little Merlin _for him_ , now would he?” Gwaine’s shark-toothed grin was approaching absurd levels at this point as he nearly purred the words, and Merlin, apparently deciding he’d had enough of _that conversation, thank you very much,_ spurred his mare forward to trot alongside Arthur, who looked quite the noble picture indeed-red cape fluttering behind him, mail cleaned and oiled until it shone bright as the sun, mounted on a noble steed, dappled from the sun. Suddenly Merlin was grateful for Gwaine’s teasing-at least he had an excuse for why his mouth was so dry and his face was as red as Leon’s was that time he fell asleep outside. Arthur looked up at his approach, and commented,

“You had enough of Gwaine yet, then?”

“No more so than I have of _you_.” Merlin teased, and Arthur laughed. 

“Fair enough.” 

“How far away are we?” Merlin asked, riding up close to Hengroen. Llamrei, his sweet mare, nickered at her friend in greeting. Hengroen, being Arthur’s horse and thus appropriately contrary, snorted but then softened and nudged her shoulder with his nose back.

“Not far,” Arthur was poring over some maps held on his lap. “We’re only a short ride away from the borderland. Remember, _Mer_ lin, this is only a scouting mission, and a training one at that. We are _not_ getting ourselves involved with _another_ international event I have to smooth over.” He looked up, then, and fixed Merlin with a steely glare. “As I’ve told you before, being a hero doesn’t suit you, so do us all a favor and don’t go looking for trouble.”

Merlin protested, “When have I _ever_ gone looking for trouble? If anything, trouble finds _me!”_

The king rolled up the maps as fat droplets of water started to rain down. “All the more reason for you to stay close and not give it that chance. No disappearing acts, Merlin!” He favored the man with a sidelook, under which Merlin squirmed guiltily. It wasn’t like he didn’t have good reasons for vanishing-most of the time, they were to save Arthur’s life, not that the spoilt brat knew it (a voice in his head sounding unnecessarily like Gaius pointed out that if he did, Merlin would probably be dead, burnt at the stake). 

With that said, Arthur looked up at the sky and grimaced. The rain was falling hard, now, and shortly the ground would become slick and muddy, certainly not ideal for the horses, weighed down with heavy knights in full armor and provisions for a three-day journey. 

“We’ll stop here for the night. Leon-” But whatever he was going to say became lost as a sparrow swooped down to make its nest in Gwaine’s hair. Gwaine, understandably unenthused about this recent development, started batting at his head to make it fly off. The sparrow, apparently of a vicious breed, decided it would put up a fight to defend its new home. 

“Ow! It _bit me!_ Come here, you little….you _bastard! It’s going for the eyes!”_ Verbosus, Gwaine’s noble stallion, did not much care for his knight’s flailing about, and reared up. This only served to make the sparrow clinch his claws tighter into Gwaine’s prized locks and start pecking harder. The knight panicked, and in the confusion, yanked the reins much too hard on his horse’s tender mouth. Verbosus, thoroughly panicked and confused, bucked his knight off of his back, launching Gwaine through the air, and into Elyan’s mount. 

Garrulus, though possessing of many fine qualities, did _not like_ a knight weighing 20 stone and covered in hard mail flying into his face at top speeds. Before Elyan could get him under control, Garrulus bucked and kicked Valens, who, as it had been mentioned before, did not much care for _shenanigans_. He knocked Percival loose, and slammed past Leon, who, in the confusion, had dismounted to try and help. Leon went down in the mud, and thus let go of Gemmula’s reins.

Sensing an opportunity to cause misery to someone other than his knight, Valens came to a screeching halt in the slippery mud and _bit_ Gemmula, full-square, on the bum. Already panicked from the chaos, the mare, usually so sweet and docile, went galloping full tilt towards Arthur and Merlin, who had drifted ahead and had only just noticed the disaster of epic proportions that was unfolding behind them. By the time they realized there was a mare headed directly for them, it was too late. 

Gemmula slammed into the pair and their mounts with the full weight of nearly 86 stone, unseating Merlin and throwing him against a tree. Arthur, somehow managing to stay on, calmed Hengroen down and grabbed for Llamrei’s reins while Gemmula leaned heavily into a rotting tree, breathing heavily and with blood streaming down her flank. 

The sparrow, evidently deciding she’d prefer a more stable nest, finally released her claws of doom and made a break for it. Gwaine, resting on the ground, narrowly avoiding being trampled, rose two fists in the air.

“I won.” He coughed miserably, then sat up some and shook his hair out. “I won, you little _bitch!_ The hair is _mine!”_

Once Leon had limped over to stroke Gemmula’s face and reassure her, and the other knights had similarly taken the opportunity to claim their mounts, Arthur frowned. Something was missing. _Someone_ was missing.

Looking around, Arthur soon had his answer. 

“Shit, Merlin!” Arthur rushed to his servant’s side, where Merlin was slumped against a tree. Yanking off his gloves, the king searched for the point of impact. Slipping his hand behind Merlin’s head, Arthur lifted Merlin up until he was sitting up straight. When Merlin was properly situated, Arthur withdrew his hands, sticky with blood. 

“Here sire, allow me.” Leon, bless his soul, was the only one in the group with any form of serious medical training. Leaving Gemmula for a moment, he kneeled down next to Merlin and examined the injury. “It doesn’t look like his skull is cracked, but he certainly had a good knock about. I think he was just knocked out, Arthur. I don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t wake up shortly.”

Arthur sighed and reached for one of Merlin’s arms. “Here, Leon, help me lay him out.” Between the two of them, and with Percival’s cape lining the cold muddy ground, they got Merlin on his side, stretched out and less cramped than he was leaning against the tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Do NOT move someone with a suspected head or back injury. Leon's panicky and covered in mud, and let's be honest-do you think Uther ever really paid anyone well enough to make sure his knights had a thorough medical training?


	2. Chapter 2

The knights kneeled around him as Arthur gently tapped Merlin’s cheeks. “Merlin, _Mer_ lin, wake up.” They all heaved a great sigh of relief as long eyelashes started fluttering about on pale cheeks.

“Wh-” Merlin opened his eyes a slit, only to see a great form _looming_ overhead. Startled and more than a little bit confused, he scrambled backwards until his head hit a tree behind him, which brought him fully to consciousness, if not to awareness. “What-Where...Arth’r?” The large figure retreated, and a smaller figure appeared in front of him, shushing him gently.

“I’m here, Merlin. You gave us all a good fright there, didn’t you? Did you think you’d get off with sleeping the day away?” Despite his words, Arthur was deeply concerned. Merlin’s eyes weren’t focusing on him properly, and they looked hazy and dark. His skin, pale even on good days, was downright white and blanched of any color in it. Dark bruises had started forming on his temples, and Arthur knew he had to get Merlin back to Camelot and to Gaius as quickly as possible. Merlin whimpered a bit as he attempted to sit up, and Arthur’s heart clenched. 

“Hey there, now, don’t sit up, you took a bit of a spill there.” Gwaine had come to Merlin’s other side, and was gently pushing him back down. 

Merlin squinted, the bruised circles under his eyes becoming more apparent, and asked, “Gwaine?”

“Yep, it’s me, mate, thought you’d finally gotten rid of me, huh?” Gwaine tried to keep his tone light, but the concern and fear in his eyes was all too apparent when he looked at Arthur and gestured wildly around. The king wasn’t entirely sure what the waving arms meant-perhaps Gwaine had taken up interpretive dance?-but he got the gist of the message. It was time to go, and they needed to bring Merlin to Gaius. 

Merlin laughed in a little sighing breath, and frowned when it jostled his head. 

“M’head hurts, Gwaine, did Arthur throw something at me again?” Gwaine softened at the first part of the sentence, then stiffened at the second and shot a death glare at Arthur, sitting right next to him.

“No, Merls, you got thrown right off of Llamrei and smashed into the tree a bit. Try not to speak and save your strength, though the moment you’re feeling better, I’m _very_ interested in hearing _all about_ how the king _abuses his servants._ ” 

Arthur winced-that was a little unfair, he’d never actually _hurt_ Merlin, it was all in good fun, wasn’t it? 

Merlin sighed then, a soft breathy thing, and closed his eyes. “M’tired, Gwaine.” He must have been cold, because it was then he really started shivering in earnest, which forced bleary eyes open to peer at Arthur.

“Ar-Arthur,” he coughed, and the king was not happy when saw Merlin’s bottom lip begin to crack and bleed freely, “Why am I on the ground?” This was _not_ ideal, and Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.

“Don’t you remember, Merlin? You idiot, you were thrown off your horse and smacked your fool head against a tree.” Despite the harshness of the words, Arthur’s tone was gentle and soft. He picked up Merlin’s hands in his own and starting trying to rub some warmth into them. For once, Gwaine was quiet, and Arthur looked up to see him removing his cape and draping it around Merlin’s shoulders.

Perhaps feeling the warmth the thick cloth still held from Gwaine’s body, Merlin opened his eyes again (when had they closed? They needed to get him home, _right now_ ), and smiled wanly at the two of them. Considering the pained look the two men in front of him exchanged, it wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped it to be in reassuring them.

Summoning all the strength he could muster (and calling just a bit on his magic when his eyes were closed, because he could feel it, anxiously thrumming away underneath his skin), Merlin braced himself against the tree and part pushed, part-pulled, part-clawed his way up, until he was standing on wobbly legs. Just this amount of movement had set his head to screaming again. (And his magic was demanding he set it free, to heal or to defend himself, to do _something_ other than _crushing it down_ so tightly) Ignoring both the pain and the sparks flying in his blood, Merlin tried taking a step forward, and nearly collapsed again. 

Gwaine caught him, murmuring, “Easy, easy,” as though he were a startled horse. Arthur flanked him, hands skimming Merlin’s sides, as if to reassure himself his manservant was alive. Merlin glared half-heartedly at the both of them, then dropped it once he realised that that energy could be utilised into keeping himself upright without assistance. 

“Really, I’m fine.” Arthur’s eyes flashed at him warningly, and Merlin quickly amended, “Ok, so I’ll _be fine._ ” He managed to stand fully upright, paying no mind to how his ribcage screamed (ok, so less fine, but he could still work with that) and his vision blurred in and out with his breaths. Once he’d finally gotten himself to his full height, he brushed away the hands hovering near him, almost instantly missing the warmth.

Gwaine sighed, a bit in relief and a bit in frustration, then moved away, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t you dare move, Merls, I’m coming right back, and we’re going to get you on your pretty little mare to ride your sweet little ass all the way back to Camelot.”

Merlin laughed despite the searing pain, and choked out, “Stay away from my horse, Gwaine. She-she doesn’t need to be caught up with the likes of _you.”_

That seemed to break the air of tension that had settled on the group, and the knights moved to saddle up. Leon went to Gemmula, still leaning against the tree but calm now, and checked the bite to see if it needed any treatment before they rode off. Thankfully, though it had thoroughly frightened her and ripped the skin, the wound was not deep and could easily be dealt with once they were back in Camelot. 

Still, Leon was nothing if not careful of her wellbeing, and slathered honey over the wound. It was useless to try and apply a bandage here-it would either fall off, or irritate the skin as they rode along. 

While the knights were busying themselves, and shooting concerned glances at each other across the clearing, Arthur was still standing next to Merlin, close enough to touch. Merlin flushed despite the circumstances as Arthur leaned in close and murmured, “ _Mer_ lin, this is ridiculous. No one will think any less of you if you sit down.” He would have snapped back, if he hadn’t seen the open, raw concern reflected back at him in those clear, steady blue eyes. 

They moved a few paces away from the tree, and Merlin grinned goofily, just to irritate the king, and was about to say something _very clever_ back, his heart singing at the affection, when suddenly a great _Crack_ was heard throughout the clearing. 

Leon had finally persuaded Gemmula to come off of the rotting tree she was leaning on. When her hind feet left the old root system she’d been standing on, the tree started to fall. She reared up, thoroughly done with all the surprises for the day, and Leon lunged for the reins. 

The tree, a one-hundred year old massive oak, had been done in by the recent rains. The mud and water seeping in around the ancient root system had weakened them, and they’d begun to pull out from the ground.. All it needed was that little... _wiggle_ to get free, and Gemmula’s stamping around had certainly done that. Before anyone could make a move, it started collapsing down onto the tree Merlin and Arthur had just been standing under. That would have been the end of that, and all would have considered it a fortunate escape, had the younger, smaller tree been able to support the weight of the older. It was not, and Merlin looked up as it came collapsing down onto their heads.

Percival roared and Elyan’s face went ashen as he took in the inevitability of what was about to occur. Leon, noble sweet Leon, screamed out, _“Arthur!”_

Gwaine had realized what was about to occur faster than anyone else, and was only a few yards away, hands reaching out to grasp them, pull them far away from the death headed for them. He wouldn’t make it in time to save them, but he too would be crushed underneath the massive tree, Merlin noted calmly in the split second he had to think.

He looked at Arthur; warm, golden Arthur. Arthur, who had defended him against all manners of horrors. Arthur, who he’d given his life a hundred times over to protect, to cherish. Arthur, the one person who’d managed to make such a nuisance of himself by worming his way into Merlin’s affections. The one person who had trusted Merlin with every one of his secrets, and who Merlin had betrayed in the worst of ways. Merlin smiled faintly at Arthur, who looked back at him with scared blue eyes. 

Merlin reached. He was tired, he was hurting, but the magic that bubbled underneath his skin, that fizzed through his veins and soared through his blood, it was there, and it would allow no harm to come to the prince he’d sworn his life to. That had to be good enough. 

His head wouldn’t allow him to remember any particular spell, but it didn’t matter. Already popping and gnashing at the bit from the inability to _heal,_ to _help,_ to do anything other than be brutally forced down in the company of people he trusted with his life but not his secrets, the magic _poured_ out of Merlin. It exploded in sparks of gold and red and blue, and rushed out to _protect._

Several things happened at once. The tree crashing down upon their heads shattered into hundreds of pieces, raining down on the clearing. There was no mistaking who had done this. Merlin’s eyes were golder than any coin in Camelot’s vaults, and power was streaming from him like banners on a warship. 

A massive concussive force exploded, sending Arthur, Gwaine and Merlin flying to various corners of the opening in the trees. Gwaine was tossed to one side, where Percival and Elyan rushed to attend him. Arthur was blown to another, and he gritted his teeth as he caught his breath, while Merlin was flung against a boulder with a sickening crunch. Leon came to Arthur’s side, and helped him wrestle up from the ground. 

Percival, doing the same with Elyan’s help for Gwaine, spoke up what they were all thinking; “What _the fuck_ was that??” His voice was teetering on the edge of hysterical, and no one could quite find it in themselves to be much calmer. 

Arthur’s voice was as cold as steel as he worked his way towards Merlin. _“Sorcerer.”_

Merlin stirred at the sound of Arthur’s voice, eyes confused and blurry once again, and struggled to sit up, only to cry out as one of his arms refused to work. Dimly, he noted the shoulder had been wrenched brutally out of the socket. He couldn’t see or hear straight through the pounding of his head, and the world seemed tilted and oddly drained of color. He heard the _schnick_ of steel as Arthur drew his blade in shaking hands. Suddenly the world seemed clearer, narrowed in on Arthur and himself. 

Arthur’s voice was furious. “How _dare you!?_ You of all people.” He choked up for a moment, so fast Merlin was sure he’d imagined it, then his eyes became hard and flinty. “Gods, Merlin, you had me convinced.” He laughed, a short, bitter thing, and ran one hand through his hair, leaving it oddly spiked and ruffled in the pouring rain. “I had really thought that for once, _this fucking world_ had given me a chance. I really, really did. I thought-” here Arthur swallowed hard, and tears were shining in the blue eyes Merlin so loved.

Then a wave of anger and grief and bitterness and so, so much pain that Merlin’s heart ached, washed over the king’s face. It hardened him, turning what was once soft and sweet into something angular and harsh. He stepped forward, and Arthur blurred into Uther for a moment as Merlin tried to process what was happening. It became quite clear even to his muddled mind when Arthur raised his sword and spat out venomously, 

“You have _betrayed_ me, _sorcerer,_ and for that your penalty is death.” 

Merlin cowered into a ball best he could, and squeezed his eyes shut. His limbs were slow to obey his head’s orders, though, and all he managed was a half-curl into himself. As he waited for the blow to come, brain aching fit to leak out his ears, a few tears made their way down his cheeks, and he looked up at Arthur, for one last look at the man he’d promised to protect with his life-even from himself, he who had caused so much pain. 

Arthur made the mistake of meeting Merlin’s eyes. In front of him wasn’t a vicious sorcerer, hellbent on destroying Camelot and all the lives within it. In front of him was _Merlin_ . Sweet, silly, bold _Merlin_ , who’d stumbled into his life with curling black hair and flashing blue eyes and a way of beating down every defense he’d managed to build. Merlin, who he’d taken great delight in needling at every opportunity, and who never failed to poke him back, both taking comfort from release of expectations and burdens of cold responsibility. This was _Merlin,_ who blushed at Gwaine’s stories and pouted for days when Arthur caught anything remotely fluffy or cute. As Arthur stood there, rain pattering off the chainmail Merlin had painstakingly polished only the day before, chattering on about baby bunnies and turning red whenever Arthur leaned in close, the king realized perhaps the two greatest truths in his life, neither of which he’d known before but had defined his life for the last several years.

One, he was deeply, irrevocably in love with his manservant, which he was _sure_ broke a few rules, not to mention the fact that Merlin _was a bloody sorcerer,_ and two, that he could no more kill Merlin for it than he could slice a dagger across his own throat. 

He staggered back under the weight of these realizations, and looked at his sword, poised to chop off _Merlin’s head,_ and grew pale. He mumbled to himself, “This isn’t right.” Arthur threw his sword down in disgust, not meeting Merlin’s eyes. 

Louder he said, “This isn’t right,” and gestured for Leon’s help. Gwaine finally broke free of Percival and Elyan’s grasp, and came for Arthur, sword outstretched. Steel met steel as Leon drew his blade to protect his king. The two brothers in arms locked swords and fought fiercely.

Gwaine ground out, “You _know_ this isn’t right, Leon.” and dodged a blow meant to disable him, then went on the offensive, forcing Leon to parry blows, and Leon responded grimly,

“You have sworn an oath to follow the king, and so have I. Does your word mean so little?” Gwaine laughed coldly, and threw Leon off his blade with a triumphant twist. 

Standing tall and proud between Arthur and Merlin, he looked defiantly at the assembled knights and his king and declared, “I swore an oath to _protect innocents in the name of the king,_ not to slaughter them in cold blood.” He eyed Arthur warily and affirmed, “As long as there is breath in my body, you will not get to him. I will protect him from even you, Arthur.” 

Arthur’s breath caught as he realized the enormity of _what he had almost done._ He motioned to Leon to put down the blade. Percival and Elyan, pale and unsure, edged closer, though to help who, Arthur wasn’t sure. He staggered forward towards Merlin, only to freeze when Merlin bolted upright and Gwaine slid in between the two, sword tip centimeters from Arthur’s throat. That apparently decided things for Elyan, who grabbed Gwaine’s arms and restrained him with Leon’s assistance. Gwaine started screaming like a madman, and Percival stood stock still, eyes sliding between Arthur and Merlin.

All went silent when Merlin took a step forward, swaying, and looked up with blue eyes burning bright with tears. Arthur took a step forward, only for Merlin to shake his head and back away, saying, “I will do anything for you Arthur. My life, my magic, is all for you to control. But I won’t burn for you, Arthur.” Merlin’s voice caught, and he tried again.

“I have protected you, I have guided you, and I,” here he swallowed hard, and Arthur noted with some alarm a paling of the servant’s skin, “I have killed for you. All that I am is for you.” He smiled through a veil of tears, and spoke as if reciting an old joke, “We’re two sides of the same coin, you and me.” Merlin straightened up, and his eyes flashed golden, a warning of what was to come. 

“I will die to protect you Arthur, but I will not burn for you.” A pulse of golden magic rocked through the clearing, sending the knights and Arthur sprawling on the ground. 

Merlin bolted for the treeline, adrenaline and magic fueling his desperate race for freedom, even as his mind and magic screamed about leaving Arthur behind, _leaving him unprotected._ Tears of pain and years of disappointment made it difficult to see, and what he suspected to be several broken ribs screamed as he forced greater quantities of air into his lungs to push his legs harder, faster, just to _get away._ His mind clouded up even as the magic roaring through him pushed him far beyond any human limits. 

Arthur swore as he pushed himself off the ground, and nearly flew into the forest, giving chase to Merlin, who, despite the prodigious amounts of magic hissing through his veins, was flagging, too tired and scared and hurt to continue on much further.

Merlin heard Arthur crashing behind him, and fear took over his judgement. He took off again, legs burning and muscles cramping, towards a break in the tree line where, hopefully, there would be a flat expanse, giving him an advantage over Arthur, who was wearing fifty pounds of chainmail and armor. Merlin skidded to a halt when it became clear that the break in the tree line was more of a deep ravine. He hesitated, looking for an escape, and braced himself to jump. Dying of a broken neck was preferable to burning alive, fire licking through his bones and making his flesh char to ashes. 

As he took his first step off the edge, something heavy and warm slammed into him, landing him several yards away from the brink of death. He fought back, kicking and hitting, giving as much as he could.

Arthur was terrified when he saw Merlin make up his mind to jump. He put on a burst of speed, willing his body to give everything he had so he could just- _reach out and…._ He crashed at full speed into the warlock, knocking them both out of breath, but most importantly, far away from the edge of the ravine. Merlin fought him, kicking and clawing for escape, but it was clear that whatever had fueled him for so long was gone, and eventually the kicking and punching and shouting was gone, and Merlin wept in Arthur’s arms, trembling hard. 

“Sorry, so sorry, so so sorry. ‘M so sorry, Arthur,” he sobbed desperately, and Arthur held him close, heart racing and eyes wet. “I’m so sorry, please don’t burn me. I’m so sorry. I didn’ mean to, I _was born with it._ ” Merlin cried, and Arthur shushed him gently.

He sat them both up, Merlin safely encased in his arms, and rocked the man who had suddenly, inexplicably become the most important thing in his life, and nestled his face into the back of Merlin’s neck. 

“Shh, shhh. It’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” Arthur soothed, and in front of him, Merlin shuddered with a fresh round of tears.

“No, no it’s _not,_ I _lied_ to you, and, and I’m _sorry,_ Arthur, gods, I’m so sorry.” His voice shook with the force of his weeping, and Arthur’s heart, what was left of it, broke into little shards.

“I know, Merlin, I know.” He held Merlin close, and kissed the crown of his head, trembling with the force of his fear. He had almost lost Merlin twice today, once by his own stupidity, and once by near-suicide. Arthur wasn’t going to let go until he’d picked up all the little broken pieces that once made Merlin whole and fitted them back together again. Merlin cried out again, and a wave of sorrow clenched Arthur’s chest.

“Shh, I know.” Closing his eyes, Arthur rocked the two of them on the damp forest floor. 

Artwork by the amazing and wonderful Sunfall_of_Ennion. Thank you. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's not letting go until he's sure he can put Merlin back together again.


	3. Chapter 3

A few minutes later, Gwaine came skidding through the underbrush, Leon hot on his heels. Desperation was clear on his face, and his hair was muddied and full of bits of greenery and twigs. “Mer- _You!”_ Here he came screeching to a halt, just a few yards from where Arthur was clutching Merlin tight. A look unlike any Arthur had ever seen on the knight’s face before stole his features and rearranged them into something almost menacing. Arthur’s stomach turned when he realized what it was-betrayal. 

In an instant, he was on his knees beside Merlin, still held firmly in Arthur’s grasp. Gwaine shot a pained look towards Arthur, and growled, 

_“What did you do to him?”_ In his arms, Merlin stiffened, and shrunk in on himself, and before Gwaine could say another word or perhaps rip the warlock from his king’s arms, a pained cry emerged from between the two knights. 

“Gwaine. _I’m so sorry,_ Gwaine. Sorry.” The knight looked horrified as he finally saw the tracks of tears running down Merlin’s face, the reddened eyes and pale face. 

Settling down beside his friend, Gwaine shot a murderous scowl at Arthur and starting rubbing Merlin’s back gently. 

He shrugged lightly, leaning in closer to provide some warmth to the man, who was shaking harder than a leaf in a storm.

“S’alright, Merls. I don’t know if I had a secret like that, I’d tell anyone else either. ‘M not mad, I promise. Can you look up at me, mate?” Merlin obliged, and Gwaine’s throat dropped into his stomach as he saw just how bruised and battered the man really was. 

Dark bruising littered his face, his arm hung limply at his side, and a deep scratch on one cheek was slowly oozing blood, but what frightened Gwaine the most was the look of deep, crushing resignation to the fate Merlin had just fought so hard to escape from. His eyes were murky and shadowed, and he looked drained, as if all that had made Merlin _Merlin_ was gone. 

Gwaine recognized the sounds of the other three knights coming closer. He tensed up, rolled fluidly into a crouching position, and whipped his dagger off his belt, holding it in front of him as clear warning to Leon and Elyan, who had stopped, hands up and away from their weapons, only a few feet from where Merlin lay in Arthur’s grasp. 

“You will _not touch him,”_ Gwaine hissed out, eyes narrowing and teeth baring almost feral. He was suddenly desperate to spirit Merlin away from this, away from those who only a few hours earlier Gwaine would have been confident would _protect him,_ with their lives if need be _._ He was no longer confident of anything, and the men he once would have called brothers seemed proof that touching anything of _nobility_ would corrupt you until you had no virtue or honor left. 

Gwaine shifted, ready to pounce. _He_ would not leave Merlin to burn alone. Killing a fellow knight was one of the few crimes besides sorcery punishable by being burned to death. In that moment, Gwaine was prepared to kill _anyone_ who would do Merlin harm, and damn the consequences.

Leon seemed to read this in his eyes, and dropped his head, sighing. For what reason, Gwaine didn’t know. Slowly, gingerly, Leon reached for his sword in its scabbard. 

Gwaine growled out a warning, and Leon halted, then held up one hand, and splayed all but two fingers out on the other one. He was making it clear he had no grip on the sword if someone came at him. Leon drew it out fully, tension in his fingers making it clear it wasn’t a comfortable process, then held it out to the side and dropped it. He repeated the same process with his dagger, and then even his little food knife. Once it was evident Leon had no weapons left on his person, he did something Gwaine didn’t expect. 

Leon reached up and fingered the clasp of his cape with an unreadable expression on his face. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes as it came undone. Catching it in his arms, the eldest knight shook his head, folding the material in almost a fond way. He picked up his sword, ignoring Gwaine’s hiss, and set it on top of the folded square. This gave Gwaine pause. After gruesome battles (and he’d seen so much death, just in the last few years alone, and something in his heart ached), fallen knights would have their swords and red capes with the crest of Camelot retrieved, brought back. It wasn’t always possible to bring back corpses, so they were often burned on the battlefield where they fell. Their families would be presented with a folded square of cloth, with their blunted sword on top. It was a gesture of respect, and a signifier of death. If they died honorably, the cloth would be cleaned, and the sword polished and blunted. For a dishonorable death (usually reserved for those who ran away while their brothers died on the field), the cloth was dipped in ashes and the sword broken in pieces by a few swings of a heavy mace. 

Leon had had no ashes. Kneeling, he dipped his fingers in the mud that soaked through his trousers. He dug his hands in further, pulling out fistfuls of wet soil, which he then rubbed on the folded cloth. Leaning further, he worked the mud into the very weave of the fabric, staining the once crimson cloth a dark ashy brown. Traitor colors. Leon had no mace to break his sword, so he repeated the process of the mud, sullying the intense shine of his weapon with dirt. He then rose, hands dripping in mud, and started towards where Merlin was being propped up by Arthur. Gwaine came out of the crouch, and straightened up, loosening his limbs in preparation for a quick lunge. 

Leon paused, then dropped to his knees again, and shuffled towards Merlin, arms outstretched and just barely touching the hilt of his sword. Gwaine watched him warily, muscles tensing, but he needn’t have bothered. 

Leon stopped only a few feet from Merlin, and bowed his head, placing the bundle of fabric and metal on the forest floor. Merlin, propped up on Arthur’s shoulder, thoroughly exhausted and frightened, looked up at him, and Leon couldn’t decipher his expression.

Merlin hardly so much as breathed, and his eyes were half-open, dark and dull, and tears still slipped down his face, though Leon wasn’t sure if Merlin knew it or not. The knight exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair, stopping short when Merlin blanched as his hands rose, but Merlin didn’t move so much as a muscle, body pushed beyond its limits from his terrified flight through the forest. 

“Merlin,” Leon swallowed hard, and from their respective positions, both Arthur and Gwaine could see a sheen of tears in his eyes, “I am so _sorry._ I have failed in my duties and responsibilities as a knight of Camelot. I have allowed harm to come to you, an innocent.” On the last word, Leon’s voice cracked, and he stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Worse than that,” he continued quietly, not meeting Merlin’s eyes, “I have allowed harm to befall a _friend._ I would have watched you die, and there are no apologies that are great enough for that.” 

Merlin made a sound then, and his left hand twitched a bit, but Arthur shushed him, and Gwaine dropped to his knees beside the warlock, rubbing his uninjured shoulder gently. 

“It is unfair of me to ask you to accept this offering at the moment. I know you must be hurt and tired.” Leon looked over Arthur’s shoulder, and then his eyes really did fill with tears.

“And scared.” He looked so guilty and torn apart then, that even Gwaine relaxed, loosening his hold on the dagger but not letting it go. Then Leon’s shoulders stiffened, and he straightened up as best he could while on his knees.

“Therefore, I will present it to you when you are better, and when you are able to pass judgement again. I will not burden you any longer with my mistakes.” He looked determined, and noble, and if Gwaine hadn’t just seen him back up Arthur as the king had tried to slice his friend’s head off, he might have been willing to accept this.

“No.” He snarled, rising, and the tension rose to its breaking point. “No,” he repeated, shaking his head angrily. “This is-it’s _not ok.”_ He whirled on the king, and Merlin flinched as Arthur shifted position. 

“How _fucking dare you?”_ He spat. “This isn’t some kind of _fairytale,_ Leon, where you can apologise and we all ride off happily into the sunset.” Thoroughly out of temper, Gwaine paced a few steps away, then stopped short and resumed his guarding position over Merlin.

“You,” he snapped, pointing at Arthur, who didn’t look very surprised, “Would have had him killed. He, who has done nothing but keep your arse _out of trouble_ since the day he met you! And you!” He rounded on Leon, and the knight didn’t defend himself as Gwaine socked him square in the jaw, knocking him backwards into the mud. 

“You would have gone along with this! To _Merlin!_ The very same _Merlin_ who saved your life not two months ago when you got stuck in the deep snows!” Leon had risen to his knees again, bruise blooming on his jaw, shuddered and hunched over, looking defeated. 

“And even the two of you, _stood by and watched it happen!”_ Gwaine screamed at Percival and Elyan, to the end of his limits. “How _could_ you? These dumbasses,” pointing at Leon and Arthur again, “are _nobility,”_ and here he spat the word with disgust.

“They’ve been raised with coldness in their hearts and vengeance in their souls. But you,” Percival met Gwaine’s eyes steadily while Elyan looked at his feet, “you two _know_ the life of a commoner. You know as well as I do how much _shit_ you take, how much people like _him,”_ Arthur, again, “can do to innocents like him,” Merlin, now, “and not have anything more than a slap on the wrist.” 

Here Arthur stirred, and opened his mouth to defend-he wasn’t sure what, but he didn’t have the chance as Gwaine howled, 

“ _No!_ Arthur, he isn’t one of your _toys,_ to be discarded when you break him. He is a real, flesh and blood person, and you’ve tossed him aside like a pony who turned up lame. You don’t get the _right,_ king or no, to defend your actions. He’d follow you to his death, Arthur, you know that, and yet you’ve condemned him for it.” 

Merlin shook awake, eyes blinking open at that, and protested weakly, “G-Gwaine. That’s-that’s not really fair.” 

He fell into a deep coughing fit, thin shoulders shaking violently, and Gwaine’s eyes widened. He dropped his dagger as Merlin’s breath started to rattle a bit, and pounded him on the back a little too heavily as Merlin seemed to be unable to take in enough air.

Arthur looked up at him, then, and Gwaine locked eyes, challenge burning deep in them. “We need to get him back to Camelot, Gwaine.” 

Whatever Gwaine might have said in response was halted when Arthur shook his head, held up one hand, and said quietly, “I promise-I _give you my word,_ that the moment Merlin is clear and well, you may do to me whatever you wish.” He shifted, drawing attention to Merlin, who seemed less aware than he had a moment before. 

“But first, we need to bring him home, Gwaine, to Gaius. I will not lose him due to my own stupidity.” He shuddered, then added softly, “Nor for my arrogance.”

Before Gwaine could say anything in response, something in Arthur seemed to _break,_ and he shuddered. The knight looked on in amazement as tears from the king’s eyes finally spilled over. “Gods, I-I _know,_ Gwaine. You cannot _believe_ how much I-” He broke down a bit there, shoulders shaking, and something in Gwaine softened. 

“I know.” He clasped Arthur’s shoulder. “We’ll get him on his feet again.” Arthur met his eyes, and nodded. 

“Yes. _We_ will.” The king added, nodding towards the other three in the clearing, in various states of shock and shame. “We will get there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, this is harder to write than previous fics. I feel like I have more of a responsibility to do justice to the way they feel, and to the fact that there is no light without darkness. Arthur is a good man, but he doesn't always make good decisions. This one nearly cost Merlin's life. Leon is a noble soldier who has a kind heart, but years under Uther's tutelage makes him used to hardening his heart towards those deemed evil. Percival is a gentle giant who wants the best for those he takes under his wing, but he's new and unsure of where he fits. Elyan will do anything to protect his sister, and is willing to lay down his life for the people he's come to know as brothers, but he's come from a lifetime of poverty and pain, and he won't jeopardize his sister's happiness or new, more wealthy life, for anyone.  
> Gwaine knows what it's like to be underestimated. He isn't as stupid or silly as people like to make him out to be (myself included), and he's more perceptive than people give him credit for. He isn't as noble as Leon, or as purehearted as Merlin (though there is darkness in even Merlin's heart), but he cares so deeply, and feels everything in such a way that this situation cuts at him. It's no great wonder he numbs it all out with alcohol. There's nothing to numb it now, though, and he's tired of what he sees as ignorance and hatred towards someone who has been only kind and wonderful towards everyone in that situation. So, maybe he's a bit emotional, but isn't that truly Gwaine? He feels too deeply, always has, and now he's the only one he feels is trying to do what's right. 
> 
> I hope this chapter was decent, and that my explanations for the way I write makes sense. Thank you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit shorter, but I've got papers I must write, so this will have to do for a day or so.

The hesitant truce that had formed between Gwaine and Arthur nearly shattered once actually moving Merlin became a priority. 

  
  
  


“No, Gwaine, he is _my_ manservant, and as such, he will be riding with me,” Arthur growled, trying to tug Merlin closer without aggravating his bad shoulder.

“He’s not a _thing,_ Arthur. He’s not something you _own, your majesty.”_ Gwaine breathed out, fury in his eyes.

“That’s-” Arthur tipped his head back and groaned. “That’s _not_ what I meant, Gwaine. You know that.”

“Do I, Arthur?” Gwaine nodded towards Merlin. “Does _he?”_ Gwaine ran a hand down Merlin’s back as if to make sure he was still breathing, and Arthur tried not to pull the warlock back. “Because I don’t think he knows that.”

Here he pitched his voice up higher, in a mockery of Arthur’s voice, “ _Fetch me my socks, Mer_ lin! _Target practice today, Mer_ lin. _Guess who’ll be the target? My lily-white pampered arse can’t handle the starch those maids put into my shorts, Mer_ lin, _so you’ll have to do the washing yourself.”_

Arthur shook his head, breathing out his anger, reminding himself Gwaine had every right to be furious with him. This wasn’t Gwaine’s fault, and Arthur could admit to himself that he’d grown rather dependent upon his manservant as an outlet for his emotions and responsibilities. 

“Gwaine.” Arthur struggled to keep his voice level. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. It isn’t getting _him_ anywhere. What can I do to assure you I’m not going to hurt him?” 

His voice got desperate, just a bit, at the end there, and Gwaine must have heard it, because he looked back at Arthur.

“Your sword.” Arthur stared at him, uncomprehending, and Gwaine’s voice grew sharper. “Your sword. And your dagger, and your mail. If you give me all that, plus the throwing knives I know you keep in your saddlebag, I will let you take him.” 

Arthur cocked his head, confused. “You...want my sword, and my dagger, and my mail, and my...throwing knives?” He shifted, supporting Merlin’s head better. “Whatever for?”

Gwaine’s voice became dark, and his eyes grew shadowed. Arthur winced, guilt flooding his body. Here was another person he’d destroyed. There was no trace of the man he knew as Gwaine as the knight murmured quietly into his ear, leaning forward,

“If you betray him, I know you will be unable to defend yourself as I gut you like the beast you are.” He leaned back, noticed the other knights tense, and laughed, straightening up to his full height. It wasn’t a nice laugh, spiky and dark and low. 

“Well, what are we waiting for? The _Princess-”_ he turned back towards Arthur and bowed, mock-apologetically, “Excuse _me,_ the _Queenie,_ has a damsel who is most certainly in distress and needs saving.”

Gwaine then motioned for Arthur to stand up. Arthur pushed himself off the ground, feeling the cold air hit his wet clothing, and grimaced. Gwaine held onto Merlin closely, stroking his hair and whispering softly to him as Merlin made a pained noise, mostly out of it at this point.

The king ran two hands through his hair, and exhaled slowly. Grunting a bit from the stiffness of his limbs, he divested himself of his sword, and his dagger, and, like Leon, even his food knife. Under Gwaine’s watchful eye he ran his hands down his mail ruefully, then wrestled it off, folding it neatly and placing it next to his weapons. Then, he reached out to Gwaine’s hold to take his servant back.

Gwaine shifted his weight, and for a moment, Arthur thought he was going to take Merlin and run off, forcing everyone into another desperate chase through the mud, but eventually Merlin was back, placed safely in Arthur’s arms once again.

Percival emerged from the trees, leading two horses, his own and Merlin’s and with Elyan right by his side, leading two more, his charger and Arthur’s. Gwaine didn’t take his eyes off of Arthur, and whistled sharply, picking up the mail and assorted weaponry.

They all heard a great neigh as if in response, and shortly Verbosus came trotting in. He nosed at his knight, and Gwaine shuddered, turning his head into his horse’s neck. They all looked away as his shoulders began to shake, and muffled sounds slipped out. 

No one commented as Gwaine pushed himself off his horse, patted Verbosus affectionately, and hoisted himself smoothly into his saddle. Before Arthur could make a move towards his own charger, Gwaine pulled up alongside Hengroen, and reached over while still in the saddle to shuffle through Arthur’s bags. Verbosus didn’t like this plan, as evidenced by the way he shifted his bulk, but he was quite fond and trusting of his rider, and stayed in his spot this time. 

Gwaine produced a set of throwing knives, holding them up for Arthur and the rest to see. With an unreadable expression, he packed the knives and dagger away in his horse’s bag, then beckoned Elyan to hand over his cloak, which he used to blanket Arthur’s sword until he could hold it safely. 

Arthur started towards Hengroen, then paused, wondering how he was going to get Merlin up and settled on the horse. Percival, looking ashamed, appeared next to him and wordlessly held out his hands for the servant. Arthur obliged, and Merlin didn’t so much as twitch as Percival took up his full weight, at this point completely gone and unaware. 

Arthur handed his cloak to Percival, so Merlin could be wrapped up warmly. Then he swung his body onto the saddle. Adjusting himself, Arthur scooted backwards to prepare a spot where Merlin could sit comfortably, resting against the king’s chest. He glanced down to gesture Percival to hoist Merlin up, but paused when he took in the scene before him. 

Llamrei, Merlin’s gentle and swift mare, had crept up to where her rider was being cradled in Percival’s arms.

She stepped forward hesitantly, confusion evident in the tense lines of her body, and reached her nose out to Merlin. She snuffled, then, and when she realized that it was her rider, her ears shot forward. Llamrei came a bit closer and nibbled at his hair, whuffing gently at his ears. She nickered lowly, a clear call for Merlin to wake up and attend to her. When he didn’t move, she repeated the sound, more loudly. 

He didn’t stir, and Llamrei’s ears went back, the horse grunting out in displeasure and uncertainty. When she started stamping her feet, and eyeing Percival like he might have had something to do with Merlin not waking up, Arthur knew it was time to get going.

“Percival,” he stated clearly, and both human and head horses shot towards him, “I think it’s time,” he gestured at Merlin’s body, then his own. Percival stepped closer to Hengroen, nearly as tall as the large stallion, and pushed Merlin up onto the saddle, settling him against Arthur’s chest. 

Llamrei started forward, confused and unhappy with _her rider_ being placed on another horse, even Hengroen, but Gwaine, for the second time that afternoon, whistled, long and low. She went stiff, and, with an air of distinct suspicion towards Arthur and Percival, walked towards where Gwaine was leaning over a bit in his saddle, an apple in his hands. 

Gwaine didn’t meet Arthur’s eyes. “Merlin asked me to train her to follow the commands of any knight who knew the signal,” he explained, watching Llamrei delicately take half of the apple out of his flattened palm, chewing slowly. “If he ever was to fall in battle, she would have a chance of making it out.” 

Llamrei reached for the second half, unaware of the eyes on her, and Gwaine added, “We were going to explain it to you once her training was complete.” 

She finished the apple then, and nibbled gently at his fingers, something Merlin had explained once was more of a soothing gesture meant to calm Llamrei down, and less of an appeal for more food, sort of like a baby sucking its thumb. He smiled at her, but it was tight and his eyes were sorrowful. She looked up at him, amber eyes trusting and liquidy soft. 

Arthur looked down at Merlin, then, as Percival wrapped his own cloak, retrieved from the ground, around both of them, trapping in more heat, almost like swaddling around a child. Merlin didn’t stir, even when Percival gently manipulated his bad shoulder so it wasn’t leaning so heavily into Arthur’s chest. That wasn’t a good sign, and, judging by the intensely mournful look Percival had on his face, he knew it too. 

The large knight dropped his hands, then, with nothing else to do to make Merlin more comfortable, and silently mounted his own horse. Elyan and Leon followed suit, the latter carrying on his lap his muddied cloak and sword. 

Leon hesitated, then sheathed his sword in its scabbard, tucking away the dirtied cloak in his bags. They needed to make up a lot of ground, and a hard ride was not the time to be carrying a naked blade. Wincing as the filthy blade crunched into its sheath, Leon met Gwaine’s eyes, and was surprised when the other knight looked away.

Arthur shook his head. All had gone to complete shit in less than an hour and a half, and so much had changed.

He picked up his reins, nudged his mount, and took off, Gwaine grimly keeping at Hengroen’s heels, Llamrei following closely. The rest scrambled to catch up. It would be a long and hard ride back to Camelot.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I know I said that would be it for a few days, but I am a contrary person who doesn't do things the way they should be done. I'm working on it, okay? In the meantime, here's another chapter, because I was feeling the threads of the story twist around in my head, practically dancing as they begged to be let out. It's dark outside, and the world's gone quite mad, and we're all dealing with the fact that nothing will ever be the same, and I suppose I needed Arthur to feel that too. In a strange way, writing makes one feel less alone as your characters (though I didn't create these ones) go through the same feelings you have. It's all a bit silly, perhaps, but it's what we've got. Carry on with a smile, and all that.

“Arthur!” Someone was shouting, and Merlin’s head was ringing. “Arthur, it’s getting too dark. We need to make camp for the night.” 

Make camp? Hadn’t they already done that? Merlin’s eyes were heavy, but with a tremendous effort, he forced them open. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t, as his shoulder, his head, his _everything_ burned to life with a fiery vengeance. Trying to escape the pain meant jolting forward, nearly off the horse he hadn’t realized he was riding. With the searing pain, however, came a clearer mind.

_Arthur knew. They all knew._

Merlin gasped for breath, ribs screaming and head splitting, as he descended into all-out panic. _Arthur knew, and was bringing him home to burn._

His attempts to escape began again in earnest, and before he recognised the press of a warm chest behind him, Merlin squeezed his legs together around his horse, and she took off. Llamrei was the swiftest of the horses in the king’s company, and unquestionably loyal to him. She would protect him and get him away, away from those he’d served with undying devotion and faith. 

“Woah!” A firm hand tugged the reins gently, and the massive body (when had Llamrei gotten so _large?)_ slowed to a halt, grunting in displeasure at the mixed signals. Someone was _behind him,_ (here Merlin realised a _hand_ was wound around his middle, and his breathing picked up rapidly) and they were talking to him in a low, firm voice.

“Merlin. Merlin, you need to be still.” 

Merlin, not for the first time in his life, ignored the order in favor of trying to take a flying leap off the horse (it couldn’t be Llamrei, her coat was dark, not dappled grey). Two cloaks, one wrapped tightly around him, and one tying him to the rider behind him, hindered his efforts, and in the confusion, the warlock jostled his shoulder. With a stab of blazing pain, he remembered belatedly that his arm was out of the socket. 

“Ar-Arthur, sire, Your Majesty, Your-Your _Eminence_ . I’m sorry, _please let me go._ I’ll never bother you again, _I promise._ I’ll never step foot in Camelot again, I promise, please just _let me go. Please don’t burn me,_ I swear I’ve only ever used it to protect you, I’d _never hurt you,_ you have to believe me, I’ve only ever wanted to keep you safe, I _swear on my life,_ please let me go.” Merlin continued struggling to get free, thoroughly confused and in pain, heedless of the added voices now surrounding him, begging him to stay still.

“Merlin-mate. You’re hurting yourself, you _have_ to stay still.” A knight rode up next to where he was wrestling for freedom.

Not likely. He wasn’t going to be a _quiet sacrifice._

He recognised the voice, though, and a stab of betrayal shot through his heart. _Gwaine_ had turned on him? Of all the people who he’d thought would _understand_ needing to keep a _secret,_ it was Gwaine. Apparently he’d decided the life of a noble to be more valuable than Merlin, and deep grief shot through him at that thought. 

“Gwaine-not _you too._ ”

It _wasn’t fair._ He hadn’t _asked_ for his magic, or for the _fucking destiny_ that everyone from the Druids to the Great Dragon seemed to expect him to fulfill. Merlin sobbed out a desperate breath, and Gwaine’s voice wilted when he answered,

“No- _No,_ Merlin. I _promise_ we’re not taking you-Son of a _bitch!”_

Merlin had gotten a fist free of the suffocating capes, and managed to land a punch directly into the face of the man he’d thought would defend him, would _be there for him,_ would recognise the weight he held on his shoulders, the fragile balance of life and death he commanded every day. 

Arthur held up one hand, and the entire procession halted. He beckoned to Percival again, and the tall knight nodded.

“Now, Merlin, that’s not fair. I know Gwaine’s irritating, but he didn’t deserve that.” Arthur wrapped his arms tightly around Merlin’s waist, and leaned forward to murmur quietly into the panicked man’s ears, in an attempt to distract as Percival dismounted his stallion. 

Merlin stopped struggling as he saw the knight approach, and instead began trembling, terrified that Arthur had decided to end it now, rather than fighting with the warlock on horseback all the way back to the great city where a pyre no doubt awaited him. He tried reaching for his magic, desperate to defend himself, but for the first time he could remember, it was quiet and uninterested. 

He whimpered, frantic. “Wait, wait, wait. I’ll stop, I promise, you don’t have to do this, you don’t have to kill me here. _Just let me say goodbye to Gaius,_ then I promise you can do whatever you want. Please don’t kill me here and _leave me behind._ ” 

Suddenly panicked that he’d exposed Gaius, he started feverishly babbling,

“You can kill me, just please leave him alone. He doesn’t have anything to do with this, I promise. Leave him alone, he _doesn’t know anything,_ he won’t survive torture, please don’t hire a witchfinder, _he’s an old man,_ and he’s innocent.” 

He squirmed around so he could see Arthur’s face, and instead of being enraged, like Merlin expected, Arthur’s face was pale and pinched. 

Percival was tall and stronger than a bull, but deceptively gentle and careful as he tipped Merlin into his arms and off the saddle. The sudden change in position left Merlin reeling, overtaxed muscles howling, and he gasped out, 

“ _Please,_ Arthur. Leave Gaius-” before he slumped in Percival’s arms, body’s reserves shot to hell and magic out of reach. The tall knight looked up helplessly, and Gwaine was off his horse, reaching for Merlin. 

He glared up at Arthur, sharply commenting, “That was well-done. Especially the part where you _frightened him out of his fucking wits.”_

Arthur snarled, and he swung off Hengroen, coming toe to toe with Gwaine. The two men stared at each other, only a few scant inches between their faces, breathing hard. 

Gwaine smiled toothily, and snapped, “Going to _burn me,_ Arthur? Are you going to build a pyre next to Merlin’s for me?” and grinned madly when the king flinched back. 

Arthur wilted, and in a display of uncontrolled temper uncharacteristic of the normally tightly wound and disciplined man, took his frustration out on a nearby tree. He hit the rough bark with closed fists, anger clouding his vision, and ripped the soft flesh of his clenched hands. He kept at it until his hands were bleeding freely, delicate skin split, until finally he didn’t have the energy to go on.

He leaned on his wrecked hands against the tree, and sobs wracked his body. Arthur’s back shook with the force of his cries, and he dug his palms deeper into the wood, relishing the pain of splinters digging into raw flesh. 

Spinning to face Gwaine, he demanded desperately, 

“Don’t you think I _hate myself?_ Don’t you think I’ve been spending every _goddamned minute_ wondering how I could have ever stood over him with a sword pointed at his throat? Don’t you think I’ve been listening to him struggling to breath and remembering every _single word_ I’ve ever said to him, and second-guessing that I might have hurt him unknowingly?” 

Arthur breathed in through his nose, running bloodied hands through his hair, uncaring of the pain.

“I _know_ of what my father did, what he _ordered_ us to do. I hunted some of them down myself.” His voice grew distant. “I chased them down and slaughtered innocents, and listened to them scream, thinking, _I’ve done a good thing.”_

Arthur’s face paled dramatically, and he spun to retch into the brush. Standing up and wiping his mouth on his sleeve, uncaring of the fine fabric, he admitted,

“I’ve done many bad things in my life, and when I see their faces in my dreams, I wonder if they’ve come to take revenge.” Tears tracked down his face and his breath hitched as he said,

“I’ve done so many things to so many people, yet for all the evil I’ve committed, all the lives I’ve taken, what horrifies me most is remembering me standing over him with a sword pointed at his neck, watching him realise I was going to kill him.” His eyes tracked a bird in flight as he added,

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m meant to live with this, that all the things haunting me are my punishment for-for being _his_ puppet, _his_ son, so eager to please and to prove myself, even if that meant doing what I knew in my heart to be wrong.” Arthur’s voice dropped almost to a whisper, and he said dully,

“Sometimes I wonder whether I’m meant to live at all, or if I should pay penance and get it over with.” 

There was silence. He laughed humorlessly, once, and turned on his heel, reaching for his saddlebags. 

“Let’s make camp. We ride at first light.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Arthur did some terrible things to innocents, and we shouldn't gloss over those when we think about him. Life is so complicated, and full of colours and hues, and one person can be good and do bad things, or bad and do good things. I suppose I'm lecturing now, and I apologise for it, but I always have to remind myself, being young and impetuous, that everything has layers to it, and to portray life as anything but is reductive (this is where the political science section of my degree will come in handy, I suppose). In any case, there are rarely total innocents. Arthur did awful, cruel things to people (some of them were explored in the show, though not to my content) for his father, who was suspicious and bitter. Does that make Arthur bad? He also fought for the common man, and did his best to move beyond the title and the nobility, to truly appreciate the life of everyone in his kingdom. It's all terribly complex and twisty, which is what makes it so much more fun to tease it out. I genuinely hope you enjoyed this, and I cannot thank all of you enough for the words of advice and kindness you've offered me. Be well, my friends, and take hope in these scary times.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit rough, perhaps, but as I said earlier, I've papers to write. This is much more fun, but I can't live in the land of fantasy forever, no matter how much I may wish to sometimes. Besides, reality, no matter how scary, is where the people who make the fantasy I love so much live. I hope you enjoy, and that everyone is doing well and remaining safe.

“Arthur.” The king closed his eyes. He was  _ so tired,  _ but there was Leon, striding up to him.

“Arthur, that arm needs to be put back in the socket.” Arthur shook his head.

“That’s going to hurt him.” His voice was terse and brooked no further discussion, but Leon pressed on.

“Sire, you  _ know  _ that it will be much worse if we allow it to go for any longer-this will only reduce the amount of pain in the future. You know this, sire.” Leon looked at him apologetically, but with resolve in his eyes.

  
  


Arthur jammed the heels of his hands, still weeping blood, into the balls of his eyes, rubbing lightly. He sighed, shoulders releasing tension, and said,

“You’re right Leon, of course you’re right. It’ll be worse if we allow the socket to tense up any further.” He shifted his gaze to the ground and added guiltily,

“No doubt a seven-hour hard ride didn’t do much for it.”

Leon clasped his shoulder and shook it gently, a warrior’s hug. “We have both done many things we regret today, but we cannot allow that to blind us to reality.”

Arthur groaned and dropped his hands. “No, we cannot.”

Percival  _ appeared  _ next to Leon like an apparition, carrying Merlin, and both men nearly jumped out of their skins.

His face was downcast and morose. “I can do it.”

Once Arthur put his rapidly beating heart back into his chest where it belonged, he said, 

“ _ What?”  _ only barely managing to keep his tone level and not snap at Percival for startling them like damned rabbits. His tolerance for surprises was shot to hell for the day. For the whole fucking  _ decade.  _

“The arm.” Percival looked down towards the bundle he was carrying in his arms. “I can pop it back into place.”

They both looked at him, mildly incredulous, and he shrugged. “There were no royal physicians on the road. Lancelot-” a shadow passed through his eyes, and he cleared his throat, shifting the weight in his arms.

“Lancelot’s shoulder often popped out, from an old childhood injury.” The large knight looked away. “It’s easier to manage with two people.” 

Lancelot. Fucking  _ Lancelot.  _ The man who had been so noble and kind, and so uniquely strong. He had been so protective over Merlin’s wellbeing, always fussing after him to eat more or drink or sleep. 

Ever mindful of his place, and aware he didn’t belong the way the nobleborn knights had (no matter how many times they tried to drill it into his skull that he was worth more than any piece of paper stating a title, it never seemed to catch), he rarely directly challenged Arthur, preferring instead to  _ show  _ him, guide him towards the decisions best for Merlin’s health, much to Arthur and Merlin’s shared chagrin. 

Merlin stirred at the name, and groaned out, 

“Lancelot. Where are you?” and something in Arthur’s chest cracked. Lancelot’s death had hit them all hard (especially with how  _ unfair  _ it was, it should have been Arthur, paying reparation for all the wrong he had done in the world), but Merlin had been especially affected.

For months he was a shadow around the castle, always there when needed (except on those odd days he disappeared, and Arthur went half-mad with worry trying to find him), and smiling when the situation called for it, but no one had missed the lengthening shadows on his face, the way his shoulders hunched over just a little bit more when he thought no one was looking. 

It wasn’t until Arthur had enough of the servantile behavior and personally called upon Hunith to come to Camelot to see her son that the shadows in Merlin’s eyes stopped advancing. 

They never fully disappeared, though, despite how grateful he had been to Arthur, blue eyes shining with something other than sorrow for the first time in what had seemed like forever, and despite how hard he had clutched his mother to his chest when she arrived with Gwaine and Percival. 

Arthur had been so jealous, watching Merlin and Lancelot interact, a freedom and ease there that, despite his best efforts, never existed between his servant and himself. He would watch them from his window, jostling and playing with each other, Lancelot eventually being ‘defeated’ when Merlin used a stick as a sword and thwacked him gently on the back, Lancelot going down in a heap of dramatic anguish, guards on duty laughing at the easy camraderie. 

There had been no secrets between them, Merlin had once explained when Arthur asked how the two had gotten so close, an unreadable expression in his eyes. At the time, Arthur had assumed it to be a commoner thing, something beneath him but charming due to its oddness, as if a chicken had escaped the royal kitchens and was parading around his chambers. 

Now, he realised what they had was  _ trust _ , and he recognised with a pang of sorrow that he had never given Merlin any room to reveal his secrets. He realised with another, sharper pang, that if Merlin had revealed his secret to him in Camelot, while Uther was still alive, Arthur would have done everything in his power to see him executed, burned at the stake like so many thousands had been, screaming out as his flesh charred to ashes, all for a word of approval. His life would have been forfeit to Arthur’s arrogance and greed.

Arthur had a sudden image of Gaius, face as white as his hair, watching his ward burn to death, pain in his eyes, pretending to be unaffected as the boy he called son choked on rising smoke filling and scarring his lungs.

Gaius had once practiced magic, Arthur knew that, and it was only due to his renouncement of the stuff and his long-term friendship (Arthur thought, suddenly, how any real vestiges of friendship between Gaius and Uther must have dissipated long ago, along with the sweet-smelling smoke rising from the corpses of people executed for magic, and he wondered if the same was true with him and Merlin) with the king that he survived the Great Purge. 

Arthur pushed away the thought of Gaius, face drawn and lined, watching his friends be executed for something they had used to help (Arthur wasn’t naive. He had known some were petty magic users, hedgewitches, only using their magic for basic healing in poor villages), and shuddered, squaring his shoulders back.

Well. That was enough of that. He had so many things to do once he got back to Camelot, and much to atone for, but for now, there could only be one priority. Merlin.

“Shh, Merlin. He’s not here right now.” Arthur soothed, stroking back the dark hair plastered with rain to the pale forehead. 

Merlin didn’t have the energy to so much as shift in Percival’s arms, or even open his eyes, but he breathed out, face half-tucked into the tall knight’s bulky chest, “Lancelot-Arthur  _ knows.  _ He’s going to burn me.” 

He grimaced then, face pale and drawn, and added with a desperate tone, “Watch after Gaius for me, will you?” 

Arthur’s heart sunk to the bottom of his feet, then, and he didn’t know what to say. He sighed in abject misery. Gods, he was tired. There was so much  _ left to do,  _ and he didn’t know if he had it in him. There were  _ decades  _ of hurt to be undone, starting with the single man in front of him, and, despite his earlier conviction to focus in on one problem at a time, he was left dizzied and reeling by the amount of hard work that lay ahead of him. He shifted on his feet, head spinning, and was surprised to hear Percival answer Merlin quietly,

“Merlin, Lancelot’s not here. He went into the veil, do you remember?” Merlin cried out at that, dark brows creasing, and Leon shot Percival a look clearly saying  _ you’re making it worse,  _ but Percival continued on, unfazed.

“But Merlin, _I’m_ _here_. I made a mistake, and I won’t make you worry about that right now, but know I’m here, and I will not make it again.” Deep emotion crossed the large knight’s face as he added softly,

“He is not here anymore, but I will be him for you, for as long as you need me.” He looked up at Arthur, clear but kind defiance on his face, daring him to object. Arthur had none, and watched an ant cross his boot, feeling sore and aching from all the abuse his body had taken that day. Hands clasped his shoulders firmly as he dipped towards the ground, adrenaline finally wearing off and shock setting in with hard tremors. 

He looked up at Leon and Elyan, who had crossed over the fire he was building to help Leon steady the king, and Arthur wondered when he had managed to sit down. It was  _ cold,  _ then, and violent tremblings racked his body, the odd bit of the hormone flitting through his veins, and the stress of the day finally started to get to him. 

Leon, no stranger to battleshock, helped Arthur settle into place around the fire Elyan quickly started back up. He started rubbing the king’s arms and yanking a horse blanket out of his bags to wrap around Arthur’s trembling shoulders. Leon watched the way Arthur’s eyes blurred in and out of focus, and listened to his breaths get hitched and then start to wheeze. He gripped Arthur’s shoulders, and said firmly,

“Arthur. You need to come back now. Whatever’s in your head can be dealt with, but you need to come back, where we can help you.” The knight leaned in, nodding to Percival, who started laying Merlin out flat, preparing him for the process of popping the joint back in its place.

Sensing movement, Arthur’s eyes shot up and pinned Percival in place. He shook his head, a touch feral, and hissed out between his teeth, “Merlin needs me.”

Leon sighed, exasperated and more than a little concerned. “Arthur, you can’t stand up. Merlin will be fine, but you will be useless to him if you don’t calm down.”

Arthur growled, all previous restraint gone, and said, “You  _ don’t understand.  _ I  _ have  _ to ensure his safety.” He shoved himself up from his seat, nearly overbalancing, and made his way over to Merlin on shaky legs.

Leon launched up to stop him, hands reaching out, only for Arthur to turn on him, teeth bared like a wild beast, hissing, “Leon, if you touch me right now,  _ you will lose a fucking hand.”  _

Never let it be said Arthur wasn’t one for dramatics, but Leon hesitated. Despite Arthur wobbling about like a newborn colt, there was a dangerous, savage look about him. There was no grace in Arthur’s movements, none of the coiled, springed restraint Leon had come to associate with the man. That was all gone, replaced with a raw desperation that was bordering on the edge of hysterical and unhinged. 

Leon watched Arthur stumble over towards Merlin, and sink to his knees, gripping the servant’s good arm firmly, saying over and over, 

“I’m here, Merlin. I’m here,” eyes shining bright and wild in the strange shadows of the campfire.

Elyan exchanged a look with Leon, both shaken from the day’s events and readying themselves for a long night ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe I've overblown the dramatics, but shock is a real thing, and for me, it felt so cold, and like I couldn't control my own body. It's deeply unpleasant, and can require help to come out of. Not for me, thankfully, but for others. If you think about it, Arthur's fighting his own negative reactions to magic-at this point practically instinctive-plus dealing with decades of trauma and abuse from Uther, plus the repercussions of his own actions. He's not a weak man (not that mental illness or problems is a sign of weakness, please do not ever think that), but he's alone in his tower, trying to remain connected to a people his father encouraged him to separate from, and trying to understand the seeming betrayal of his closest friend. Regardless of the reasons why Merlin hid it (good reasons, to be sure), it doesn't change the fact that it feels like betrayal, no matter how guilty Arthur may feel when he feels that sting. 
> 
> Anyway, it's rather late, and I have much work to be done before the end of classes, so cheers for now, and please be well. This won't last forever, even if it feels like it is now. Have....not faith, because that is something earned (and I'm not entirely sure many people have earned that trust), but hope. It's the only thing I know of that doesn't require deep vulnerability yet is strong enough to maintain its glimmer in the darkest of times. We will get through this, perhaps scarred and changed, but we will, and the future can be bright and open. I've probably lectured all of you quite enough for one day, though. I deeply appreciate all of your kind comments, and they are something I hold onto in these difficult times. You are all so very kind and wonderful, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all doing well. Please do not try to set your shoulder by yourself-you can cause far more damage. Do not use this as a medical guide, either, not that you would. I do not recommend. 1/10.

“On three.” Percival said to Gwaine, who nodded grimly, pressing down gently on Merlin’s abdomen, avoiding cracked or possibly broken ribs. Arthur huddled down on Merlin’s other side, stroking his arm gently, mouth moving, though what he was saying, none of them knew. 

Merlin lay flat on his back, still out cold, and unaware of the turmoil surrounding him. It was probably better that way, Percival thought gloomily.

He dug large hands into the muscles surrounding the dislocated shoulder, massaging them hard, digging deep into the tense tissues. Hours of hard riding, plus a flight through the forest had done it no favors, and Percival knew that it would be nearly impossible to get the shoulder to pop back in if the muscles weren’t relaxed in some way. It was too risky to try and give Merlin a pain relieving draught with his head knocked nearly off his shoulders, so this was the next best way to relieve some of the tension.

Merlin’s brows drew together, and he shook his head, whimpering quietly, but, to everyone’s relief, he remained out of it, Arthur murmuring quietly to him.

Once he deemed the muscles suitably relaxed, Percival picked up the arm with both hands clenched around the wrist. Keeping it straight and on the same level as Merlin himself, forearm facing the ground, the large knight started bringing the arm nearer to the warlock’s head, gently moving it around in small circles as he did so. When the arm reached Merlin’s shoulder, Percival started rotating it in place, pushing it up further towards the man’s head, where he spun it one last time, until it popped back in.

The tension in Merlin’s frame relaxed, and Arthur lunged forward, suddenly desperate to ensure he was breathing. Gwaine stopped him with a strong arm around his chest, muttering, exasperated, 

“He’s fine, Princess. He’s just finally able to fall asleep without that damn thing bothering him.”

It was a kind gesture, somewhat surprising, considering the man had threatened to eviscerate him earlier that same day. 

Arthur settled back down against a tree (he fucking _hated trees),_ content to close his eyes for a moment, hand still on Merlin’s wrist, where he felt the pulse beating close to the skin, slow and relaxed. He shivered, once, twice, then fell into a deep sleep to match his manservant.

Gwaine didn’t look at Percival as the large man reached for Merlin’s bags, filled with supplies provided by Gaius, sitting in the smaller man’s grasp.

When Gwaine didn’t so much as budge as Percival tugged the bag loose, the large knight sighed, and said.

“What is it?” Opening the bag, he rummaged around for bandages or lengths of cloth. “Come on, out with it. Ah-ha!” He pulled out his prize, a long and wide strip of cloth designed exactly for what he intended to use it.

“He.” Gwaine hesitated, and Percival paused in his wrapping of Merlin’s shoulder to nudge Gwaine’s.

“What?” Percival pressed.

Gwaine shook his head so his hair concealed his face. It was stringy and matted with dirt and, somewhat amusingly, feathers. 

“He thought I was going to turn him in.” 

Ah. There it was. Percival didn’t say anything for a minute, picking Merlin up until he was propped against the tall knight. Gwaine moved to help, holding Merlin up so Percival could better bind the bad shoulder to the warlock’s chest. Percival caught a glimpse of Gwaine’s face, then, and though it was free of tears, there was a tortured expression playing around his eyes, his body tense and unhappiness written into its lines.

“He was delirious.” Percival finally said as he finished binding the arm and tying it off with a tight knot. “He didn’t know what was going on, and he _did_ hit his head pretty badly today. Several times, actually.”

Gwaine shook his head, lips pursed tightly. “I-I thought he could _trust_ me.”

Percival lifted Merlin up into his arms, and motioned Gwaine to roll out bedding near the fire. The other man did so, though slowly and absentmindedly. 

“He does, Gwaine, surely you know that?” Percival laid Merlin down upon the bedroll, pulling the blankets up to his chin, dark cloth contrasting with Merlin’s pale skin, making him look almost wraith-like in the dim lighting of the fire.

“Then why couldn’t he trust me with this!” Gwaine shouted, then, and startled back, seemingly surprised at his own anger. He bit his lip hard, a nervous habit the company had tried to break him of to no avail, and mumbled,

“It’s just- _He_ saved _me_ , and I’d always thought..” He hesitated, and Percival waited patiently, hand resting on Merlin’s chest, ensuring it was rising and falling as it should.

“I’d always thought he knew, you know? Hells,” Gwaine ran shaky hands through his hair, grimacing as they caught at knots and tangles in the usually silky locks, 

“I think even _Arthur_ knew I’d abandon him for Merlin, if he needed me.” He shot a look at the aforementioned king, who had frowned in his sleep when they’d removed Merlin, but otherwise remained still, shivering a little as he slept.

“Lancelot might have been the one he’d told _everything_ to,” and, oh, that did hurt a bit, Gwaine was willing to admit. _Lancelot_ knew, but _he_ didn’t? “But I’ve _always_ been there, always….been a friend.”

Percival was starting to realise what was going on. Gwaine had never put down roots in any town or village, had never stuck around long enough to develop relationships or friendships, had never had a group of people willing to watch his back for him. 

“He was your first.” Percival said, then, hastily added on when Gwaine shot him an incredulous look. “Your first friend, I mean. Not your first….” He trailed off awkwardly.

Gwaine laughed a little, a small laugh, but a real one, for the first time in what seemed like days, and something in Percival’s chest eased, just a little bit.

“Yeah.” He looked at the man laid out next to the campfire, bruised and battered, but still miraculously alive. “Yeah, I guess he was. I told him everything, _trusted_ him with everything. I told him _everything.”_

Gwaine never spoke of his life before Camelot, save for raunchy stories that made even the most seasoned guards blush under their helmets. Percival wanted to hear more, to know more about the man who, despite his open and free attitude, was one of the most private people he’d ever met. About some things, anyway. Percival had never needed to know that he had a _freckle_ on his…..Well. Some things were better off left unsaid, weren’t they?

Gwaine’s expression hardened, and Percival cursed the lost opportunity, but settled in to listen, stroking Merlin’s chest absently. 

“I meant it, you know? I meant it. I would kill _anyone_ who meant that boy harm.” His eyes grew flinty, and they met Percival’s, a clear challenge.

“I might not be his friend, but he is mine, and I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” 

Percival was tired. It had been a long day, full of unpleasant realisations and tension. He wanted to snap back, to defend himself, say he would never do Merlin harm, that _didn’t Gwaine see he was trying to help?_ He knew, though, that he didn’t have that right. When Merlin needed protection, _needed him,_ he froze, unsure of his place, unsure of what was right. He didn’t grow up in Camelot, didn’t believe all magic to be bad, but for the first time in his adult life, he _belonged_ somewhere, somewhere his strength and kindness could make a difference in people’s lives. He was ashamed to admit to himself that his position had gotten to him, made him wonder if being a knight meant sometimes to make hard choices, including allowing the murder of someone you trusted your life to. Lancelot would have been disappointed in him, and his chest seized at that last thought. So, instead of shouting back, he swept Merlin’s hair off his face, and said,

“I know.” 

The day had made fools of them all, and there would be hell to pay when they got back to Camelot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwaine tortures himself and spent most of the ride back so far doing so. He is fiercely protective of Merlin, but...let's be fair, the man has a right to feel confused, a little hurt, even. Merlin didn't conceal it to hurt him, he did so to protect himself and Gwaine, but feelings are rarely ruled by logic. Mine aren't, at the very least.
> 
> I hope you're all well. It's so strange to see people outside walking with masks on. I don't live in Asia, where I understand it is quite common. When I visited Japan, many people wore them, and that was well before the coronavirus outbreak. It makes a lot of sense, so it's odd to me that we haven't really done that as a culture here. It's also strange, the little kindnesses we find during these times. We participated here in a drive-by birthday celebration, of a man who has recently won his battle with the virus. It was short, ten seconds at the most, before we drove off again, but it really put into perspective to me what matters, who matters. We will all lose something or someone in this crisis, and it is likely that our lives will be changed forever. My generation has lived through so much, it seems (though it could just seem that way because I'm young and haven't seen all of the world yet), and it looks like we are going to go through this, as well. I won't lie. Sometimes the world is so dark, and everything looks so...difficult. We can't always pretend like everything will be ok, because I have learned along the years that there are often times when things are not going to be ok, that we're going to hurt. Reading that over, it sounds a bit whingy (whiney), but there it is.
> 
> This might sound terribly depressing, and you're free to skip over all my ramblings if you wish (I understand, believe me), but in some ways, it gives me hope. Life is not quite freedom, and it's not quite a war. It's somewhere in between for me. There has to be time to smell the roses and to defend those who are innocent. Very social sciences of me, I know. You might not believe it, my friends, but we will get through this. We may be spiraling headfirst into a worldwide Great Depression, and, as some people have already begun suggesting, we may be headed for the collapse of civilisation as we know it (I feel that may be a bit premature, though), but one thing to remember, while the world is screaming and TVs are blaring, is that we as a species are terrifically adaptable. This has meant not so good things for other species, admittedly, but we will get through this, and it's entirely possible that things will get better, not just for us, but for our planet as well. 
> 
> It sounds completely silly, but I've begun trying to make friends with my neighborhood crows. They are so clever and pretty, and they make such terrific vocalisations. As cliche and sappy and cheesy as it sounds, they make me hope that one day I too will have wings. Can you imagine the freedom? I don't know what all of you believe, and I would never profess to have the right belief system or religion or faith. Still, I hope one day to come back as a bird, or to somehow mutate to have big, fluffy wings that can carry me through the sky. Anyway, that's enough rambling and lecturing for one day, I should think. I hope you are all well, and that if you have birthdays, you'll have someone to celebrate with, even if they just drive by and say hello. If you don't, I wish you the happiest birthday, and to tell you that you're important. You don't have to be perfect, or well-known, or loud, or any number of things to matter, to have value. You matter because you're you, because there is no one else who exists in the same formation as you, with the same eyes and the freckles, and yeah, even the scars. Sometimes I have to listen to my own words, too, because it's easy to forget sometimes when it's cold and dark outside. Be well, be safe, and live for the freedom of the future. <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter finds you all well and safe. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you for your interest.

Arthur woke with a start, blindly groping around in the dark. Something fell off of him, and he flinched backwards. When it didn’t move, he reached out one hand in the darkness and poked it, then withdrew his finger rapidly, heart beating fast.

Nothing happened, and so he grabbed it in his hand, wincing when that reopened a good number of the deep abrasions on it. It was a cloak. Face burning, Arthur sighed quietly and settled it around his shoulders again, feeling the chill without his bedroll or his mail. 

As his mind cleared of the fog of panic, though, he remembered the day before, and his breathing picked up its pace.  _ Merlin _ was a  _ sorcerer.  _ Warlock. Damnit, whatever in the hells he was. Merlin had magic, and  _ Arthur had tried to kill him.  _

“Breathe, Princess.” A low, mocking voice said from across the remains of the campfire. Arthur’s head snapped up, and, though he couldn’t see Gwaine’s face in the low glow of the embers, he just  _ knew  _ the bastard was laughing at him. 

“Merlin?” Arthur asked, voice scratchy and mouth dry.

Gwaine’s voice was deadly serious when he replied, “He’s fine.” His voice paused, then added wryly, “Well, he’s still breathing, anyway.”

While Arthur had been distracted with the conversation (and the godsbedamned cloak), Gwaine had added fresh kindling to the shimmering coals, and stoked it back up into a proper blaze. His dark amber eyes were suddenly highlighted as the flames lit up the camp, and Arthur could see dark shadows underneath them that weren’t a result of the strange, flickering light.

Now that Arthur was fully aware and awake, he could see Gwaine sat next to Merlin, a hand on his chest, rising and falling with every breath. Percival was huddled up into a small ball (for such a  large man, he slept like a kitten) near Merlin’s ankles, one hand on his sword. 

Leon leaned against a log, and had managed to fall asleep upright, in a position that would surely give him a sore neck in the morning. 

Elyan sat a ways away from the camp, obviously on guard duty, with his back facing them. 

Arthur nodded towards him. “What’s on with him?” 

There was no need for Elyan to place himself so far away from the safety and protection of the campfire, even if he was on shift.

Gwaine’s sharp eyes traced the guarding knight’s outline, and he shrugged lightly. Too lightly, and Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

Poking the fire with a stick, Gwaine shook his head and said innocently, “Elyan volunteered for guard duty tonight.”

Arthur sat up fully at that. Elyan  _ hated  _ guard duty, always complained of how cold it was away from the heat of the fire.

“What’s going on?” He asked, voice taking on a harsher tone.

Gwaine glared at him, and spat, “Don’t get snippy with  _ me,  _ Princess.” He gestured towards Elyan, whose back stiffened as he heard the next few words.

“He decided to take shift all night, rather than watching Merlin. After all,” these next words came out bitter and sharp, “ _ Merlin’s  _ a  _ sorcerer,  _ in’t he? A  _ dangerous beast,  _ capable only of  _ savagery  _ and mayhem.” 

His voice had grown louder, and Arthur could see, with the light of the fire, Elyan’s frame shudder and fold in on itself just a bit. 

One problem at a time.

“Gwaine, have you slept?” The king asked quietly. Gwaine was loose-limbed, but there was a tension around his eyes and mouth, exhaustion evident in every movement. 

The man snarled, throwing a log into the fire, and remaining still even as a shower of sparks rained down into his hair, sizzling out. 

“I’ll watch him.” Arthur said gently, making a move to get up.

“Not a chance on your royal arse, Arthur.” Gwaine hissed, leaning further over Merlin as if to protect him.

Arthur sighed, and slumped back against his tree (He still fucking hated trees, woody bastards).

“Gwaine, I’m not going to hurt him.” 

A grin Arthur was quickly becoming familiar with and hated with a passion grew on Gwaine’s face. 

Leaning forward, Gwaine went for the kill. 

“Ah, but you see there, Princess.  _ You already have. _ ” The knight, for all his talk of protecting Merlin, seemed ready to leave him and throw himself at Arthur’s throat.

Arthur didn’t look away this time, met Gwaine’s gaze steadily but without any hostility. 

A great groan came from across the fire. Leon sat up, rubbing his eyes with one hand, and massaging his neck with a wince with the other.

“Enough, already.” He said, looking between the two. “Enough of this.”

He pointed to Gwaine, and said, “Gwaine, there’s three hours before dawn. Use them to get some sleep, or you’ll be useless in the morning, and we’ve got a hard ride ahead of us.” 

Pinning Arthur with a look that always made the king want to squirm (he couldn’t help it, damnit, Leon just always had a way of looking into your  _ soul), _ the older knight added, 

“Arthur, go back to sleep. Yesterday was long and difficult, and I’m not going to explain to Gaius why he has to treat  _ two  _ people instead of one when you collapse from exhaustion.” He got up, stretching out long limbs, and took a long drink from his waterskin.

Crossing the fire, Leon handed Gwaine his sword, still filthy and sheathed, dropped his dagger into Gwaine’s bag, and pushed him off his seat gently, nudging him towards where Leon’s bedroll was outstretched, though the taller man had fallen asleep on the log before he’d had a chance to use it the night before. 

Gwaine narrowed his eyes at Leon, and was no doubt heading to say something deeply unflattering to Leon’s character, but Leon crouched down in front of him, and gave him the same, soul-searching look he’d given Arthur, eyes sincere and unwavering.

“I swear to you that if I allow any harm to come to Merlin, I will take the sword myself and spare you the trouble of running me through.” Leon’s blue eyes locked Gwaine in place, and the younger man suddenly felt a bone-deep exhaustion.

Still, he had sworn to protect Merlin, to be there for him. Gwaine ignored the bedroll, and instead stretched out on the ground next to Percival, close enough to lunge towards Leon if needed. He was a light sleeper when times called for it. 

Satisfied enough with this response, Leon nodded towards Arthur, calling softly to him, “Go to sleep, sire. I’ll watch over him.”

Arthur shook his head, and got up fully, ignoring with some difficulty Leon’s disapproving stare, and dropped to his knees beside Merlin, disregarding Gwaine’s warning hiss.

Once he saw the thin chest rising up and down evenly, if a little shallowly, broken ribs no doubt interfering with his breathing, something in the king’s chest loosened, and he brushed a stray strand of hair off of Merlin’s face and tucked the blanket up underneath the pale chin.

Leon watched with some amusement, the fucker, then caught sight of Arthur’s hands, and, quick as lightning, grabbed one to inspect.

“ _ Shit _ , Arthur.” The king was taken aback. Leon  _ never  _ swore. Like ever. It was something to do with his noble knightliness or something being a position of honour, and having to respect that with proper, gentlemanly speech...Arthur had never really gone down that route himself, but he appreciated the dedication.

“What?” Arthur resisted the urge to yank his hand back, knowing that once it was in Mother Duck Leon’s grip, he didn’t have a prayer of getting it back.

“This is bad. Really bad.” Leon looked at Arthur in the eyes. “ _ Why _ wouldn’t you have treated these earlier? It’s headed straight for infection.”

“I thought you said I should get some sleep.” Arthur muttered, not looking the knight in the eyes.

Leon shook the hand in his grip, squeezing down on the wounds for emphasis, and Arthur bit back a pained grunt.

“This isn’t funny, Arthur.” Leon said firmly.

“Never thought it was.” Arthur shot back, tugging his wrist ineffectually. The man had a grip like an adder’s bite.

Leon looked up at him, then, and Arthur wanted to groan when he saw the look in Leon’s eyes. They were full of deep concern, and melting kindness and understanding. 

“Arthur, you don’t  _ deserve _ this.” Leon said, tilting his hand this way and that in the light of the fire.

“Never said I did.” Arthur wanted nothing to do with kindness or understanding. He wanted no part of Leon’s concern, or his  _ pity.  _ Arthur had dug his own grave, and he deserved the consequences of his actions. Whatever happened to him was on his own conscience, no one else’s. 

Gwaine grunted loudly, a clear signal telling them both to  _ shut up,  _ and both men looked towards the knight laying on the ground, Leon’s sword clutched tight, a free hand resting on his dagger.

Arthur took advantage of the momentary distraction to yank his hand away from Leon’s grasp, mumbling,

“I’m going back to sleep. If anything changes,” his eyes shifted towards Merlin, “wake me up immediately.”

Fleeing Leon’s kind eyes was proof of the kind of irredeemable coward Arthur was, and leaving Merlin behind only added onto the guilt. Arthur’s face burned as he went back to his tree, settling against it as casually as he could, and pulling the cloak around his shoulders once more. 

His hands blistered with heat that he knew must be the infection Leon warned him of, but he relished it, clenching them tighter until the pain became almost overwhelming and he released them. A traitorous tear dripped down his nose, and he swiped it away mercilessly. He had  _ no right  _ to feel anything other than guilt or hatred towards himself, and he pulled up the image of Merlin, eyes wide and teary, looking up at him with shocked realisation as Arthur pointed his sword at the man’s throat.

A choked gasp escaped him as his lungs felt drained of air, and he shifted in his position when he heard Leon pause in tucking Merlin’s blankets closer around him. 

“Sire?” Leon’s voice was hesitant and soft, and for once, Arthur wished the man wasn’t so insistent on formalities.

He was abruptly aware of the differences in their positions, him a king, and Leon a knight. The chasm between him ( _ The King of Camelot _ ), and the people he considered his closest companions felt like a gaping wound, and he wasn’t sure how to fix it. He suddenly wanted someone to cross that border, hold him tight and whisper reassurances into his ear, but he knew he didn’t deserve that. Years of training underneath Uther, decades of being  _ his _ son, had drilled that into him with a devastating finality. 

“It’s nothing, Leon.” Arthur belatedly realised his tone was sharp and harsh when Leon didn’t respond. 

He curled into himself, cursing his lack of courage to speak out and apologise to Leon, explain to him how overwhelming this all was, how devastated he was by everything he'd done, that he didn’t mean to be such an arse. 

Merlin would understand, he thought with a tightening of his chest. Merlin would have seen past his prickly exterior and drawn everything out of him. He’d always had a way of getting past Arthur’s defenses. 

Leon wasn’t Merlin, though, and Arthur knew he didn’t deserve the absolution anyway, so he kept quiet and squeezed his eyes shut, wishing for morning to come quickly so he could have a purpose again. Getting Merlin home was his only goal, and everything else could be dealt with later. 

Sleep didn’t find him for a long time that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played around a lot with this chapter, rolling different words around. I never want these characters to be...well, out of character, but pain isn't experienced just by damsels in distress, and Arthur needs to come to terms with his own life. He's not a monster, though right now he's struggling, but he's hurt a lot of people. It was in the name of a man who'd brainwashed him into believing those different than he to be evil, but that also isn't an excuse for the choices he made. Merlin means the world to him, and he's struggling with the redefinition of their relationship. I have a thought for how Gwaine's story in this will turn out, and I'm afraid he's going to be hurting for a lot longer, but hopefully he can come to an understanding of himself and his place in the world, because I don't think he's ever slowed down to really process anything, more barreled on ahead in life to distract himself from his feelings. 
> 
> It's very strange how freeing this kind of writing is. I don't speak much of my life in what might be called 'the real world' (though every one of you are very real and very dear to me), and feelings are something I tend not to discuss, unless they are related to external factors. Some things are too private, even for this kind of medium, and I certainly don't want to come across as a complainer, so I'll leave it at that. The truth is, like everyone, I've faced my own battles, but in other ways I'm remarkably privileged and incredibly fortunate. We all face our own struggles. Some of us deal with it by internalising everything and fighting our demons by ourselves, and others choose to share their struggles with close loved ones. Whatever way you deal with pain is valid. Regardless of all of that, it's cathartic to be able to write with characters who have the space and luxury to work through their feelings. Well, they aren't doing that very well at the moment, but they will get there. 
> 
> If I could ever offer words of advice to anyone who might be listening, it's don't choose to fight your battles all alone. It's an act that is intended to be noble, to reduce the amount of worry in other people's lives, but in the end, all it achieves is more frustration and anger. My goodness, I certainly sound like a blogger right now, don't I? Anyway, remember that, even if you aren't perfect, even if you make mistakes that hurt those you love, things are rarely as dismal as they might seem in the moment. People are rarely, if ever, totally irredeemable, and we make mistakes. It's life, and as irritating as that sounds, it's all a part of the dance. 
> 
> This is more personal than I'd intended it to be, but please don't forget in all this that you deserve happiness. You deserve a life where you can thrive, and you deserve to have people around you who watch your back. Life doesn't have to be a solo act, and it's no more noble to suffer in silence than it is to ask for help. If you need anything, even just to talk, reach out. Sharing vulnerabilities is not something I'm good at, either (except, I suppose, here, which makes sense in a twisted kind of way), but a path to healing and a path to a happy life unfortunately demands it. Do what makes you happy, because you deserve it. If someone places insecurities into your head, burn the seeds of doubt before they have a chance to sprout, because, and, forgive the French, that's complete bullshit. Your life is your own, and no one except you gets the right to determine who you are. If there is something you care about, something you are passionate about, go for it, because we get this chance in life to do what we love, and you must have confidence in your abilities to do it well. 
> 
> Well, I'm sure you've had enough of this for one day, so I leave you with one final offering. When all of this is over, and we can return to our lives, things will be different. You will always be looking over your shoulder for something to go wrong. You will always wonder whether you made the right decisions, whether you could have done more. You will live with a new understanding of how to live. The key to dealing with being afraid, I have found, is to find what makes you smile, and what makes your heart sing. The world can demand a lot of you, and it might leave you broken, but there are some things no one can ever take away from you. Have pride in your abilities, and hope that when the sun rises again, it will be bright and heralding a new era. Kind of like Albion, really. Be safe and please take care of yourselves. I wish you all the best.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you are all well and safe. This is a bit random, but has anyone been watching The Clone Wars? I've only seen the clips on YouTube, but they're so...emotional, and so, so beautiful. Rex and Ahsoka were always two of my favourite characters, and to see them interact so gently and carefully, to see them choose each other...it made me so happy, even if we know what's coming. I actually am not a particularly large Star Wars fan, always preferring Star Trek, but The Clone Wars humanised the people in it, and gave the clone soldiers their own dignity. It has always struck me how evil the good guys were, to create a person just for combat, with no regard to their right of freedom. The clones fought for freedom, but they never were given it. Anyway, it's been a long and poignantly beautiful ride with them, and I wish their stories ended more happily. 
> 
> I did have a question, though. There is a particular fic I've been looking for for ages. I don't remember what it's called, but I remember it was kind of a college/university fic where Merlin met Arthur in the library, they argued over a book, and I think Merlin punched him or called him a prat, then ran away. Arthur was...not pleased. The knights are bros and they all meet Merlin in strange ways, like Leon being a resident advisor and Merlin crawling into his room for coffee. There was a scene where all of the knights had a bit of a barbecue in the kitchens, and Merlin came in, exhausted, filled up a plate, and handed it to one of them.  
> They all move in together, and they realise Merlin is terrible with insomnia, and that he shouldn't be disturbed if sleepwalking. Gwaine has a girl over who touches him on the shoulder, and he starts sobbing, so Arthur rips down the stairs and hugs him. It's...not the best remembering of the story, but it is what I remember. If anyone knows what it is, could you tell me? It's been driving me absolutely batty not being able to find it.
> 
> Exams are...exams, but truthfully I don't mind the work, though I complain about it often enough. There is a certain kind of dignity, I have found, in what I have been taught. My mind has never been suited for mathematics or the natural sciences, but I enjoy writing. I like to think I'm good at it, and it helps my mind focus in a way nothing else seems to. When thoughts are flying at a million miles per hour, and everything is terribly overwhelming, typing or writing away is a physical way of releasing things.

“-ow are we going to move-”

“-areful! His arm is-”

“-looks so pale. What is Gaius going to-”

“-no fever, thank-”

Merlin came to consciousness through bits and pieces of a conversation happening over his head. His body screamed out as he shifted, and everything above him went silent. He froze, unsure of what to do, terrified of what faced him when he opened his eyes, magic completely silent and out of reach. 

“Merlin?” A voice, strangely hesitant, rang out next to his ear, and, despite himself, Merlin flinched back hard. There was shuffling, then, and a couple of furious, whispered conversations, and then a new voice came to replace the old one.

“ _ Mer _ lin, open your eyes.” That was Arthur’s voice, unmistakeable, even raw and rough as it was. He clamped his eyes down tighter, unwilling to look, to risk seeing the hatred he knew Arthur must be feeling towards him.

Instead of facing the men clustered around him, he reached for the darkness that was beckoning him, and sank further down into oblivion, for the first time grateful of its deep clutches.

  
  


Arthur sank back miserably on his knees next to Merlin as the servant dropped deeper into unconsciousness. He drew a few ragged breaths and stared at the fists clenched tightly, painfully, on his folded legs. They howled at the rough treatment and a few scabs broke loose, setting the bleeding off again.

“Well, shit.” Gwaine broke the silence with a disappointed groan. He reached for his bag and started loading it on his charger, waiting for the stallion to blow his breath out before cinching the straps tighter around his belly.

Elyan, silent and tense, skirted around where Merlin was lying vulnerable, wariness evident in the way his eyes kept flitting to keep track of the warlock. As if he was going anywhere. He reached his own horse, and turned his back on the assembled knights.

Percival frowned at him, and Gwaine downright scowled at Elyan’s back, eyes shooting daggers.

Leon reached out for Arthur’s shoulder, then dropped it, unsure of the welcome he’d receive. 

Unable to live with this tension any longer, Arthur, gaze on his hands, said softly, 

“I’m sorry, Leon.” Leon shifted next to him, and Arthur didn’t look up to meet his eyes, focusing on breathing evenly.

“For what?” The knight asked uncomfortably. “Sire, you don’t have to-” He stopped as Arthur waved a hand at him, shaking his head rapidly.

“I do.” He said firmly, and then finally met Leon’s gaze. His eyes were red rimmed, though Leon didn’t know whether from exhaustion or emotion, but clear and level-headed.

“I behaved like an absolute pillock, when you were trying to offer kindness. I apologise for that.” He clasped his hands together, and winced almost imperceptibly. Leon’s gaze narrowed intently on them, deeply concerned and worried for his king’s health.

‘The truth is, I’ve behaved like an absolute arse-what’s the word Merlin uses?” Arthur laughed bitterly. “Ah, yes, a  _ prat.  _ A complete and utter prat.” 

He waved damaged hands around, and Leon saw a thin line of blood make its way down Arthur’s left arm.

“As you can imagine,” Arthur said softly, “this hasn’t been the easiest revelation for me, and I’ve done a piss-poor job of dealing with it.”

Leon wanted to protest, but the vulnerability he saw in Arthur’s open eyes made him stop and listen quietly instead.

“Leon, I would never ask you to harm someone you believed to be innocent. I know my father would have told you to obey any order given by him, but, as I am coming to realise, I am not him.” He swallowed, then went on with a rougher voice.

“I don’t want to  _ be him.  _ I want to be a better man, one who isn’t ruled by fear and hatred of the unknown.” Arthur’s eyes snapped up to meet Leon’s, and the knight was surprised to find a strange, glittering sort of vehemence in them. 

“Leon, if you  _ ever  _ disagree with an order that I give, asking you to cause harm to someone you would find innocent, I  _ order you, _ ” he paused, then shook his head and rephrased, “I  _ ask you,  _ as a  _ friend,  _ to disobey. You are the greatest knight of Camelot, but I value you most as a friend and advisor, not for your military prowess.” 

A sinking sort of guilt, like a stone, settled in Leon’s gut. 

Arthur continued, “More than that, if I’ve ever reached a point where I become blind and uncaring to the pain of others, if I ever become so…” he broke off with a twist to his mouth that Leon recognised as a man desperately trying to keep his composure. Arthur swallowed around the lump in his throat, and finished, 

“I ask of you, I  _ beg you,  _ to kill me. I will not be him, Leon, I can’t.”

Tears glittered in Arthur’s blue eyes, like shards of glass for how cutting they were, and Leon wanted to reach out and embrace him, but for years of rigid structure and military discipline.

  
  


“I cannot _kill_ _you_ , milord.” Leon was...Leon was...He didn’t know what he was feeling. A hot, burning feeling tangled deep in his gut, curling around organs with hot shame and desperate remorse. What Arthur asked of him…..it was unthinkable. His duty to his king outweighed all else. “It is my sworn duty to protect you, to shield you from harm.”

A gruesomely cut hand grabbed his face, and it took a considerable amount of restraint for Leon not to slap it away, battle-trained muscles straining to react.

“No, Leon.  _ No.”  _ Arthur’s voice was hard and coated in steely ice. “Your duty is to protect Camelot. I am her king, but those are easier to come by than one might think.” 

Leon didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter, because Arthur wasn’t finished.

“You have a sworn duty and responsibility to protect the citizens of this country, to ensure their safety and wellbeing. My life is forfeit to theirs, and that was a lesson my father never learned or never cared to remember. A king’s life is worth no more than the poorest pauper, or,” Arthur said with a grim smile, “of his servant.” 

He released Leon’s face, then, and said softly, “Please, Leon. I cannot trust myself to make better decisions if I don’t know that I’ll have people to challenge me when I make bad ones.”

Leon was unsure of what to say. This was not a battle he’d been taught to expect. 

He glanced down at Merlin, and thought of his bravery. Merlin had ridden into battle with not so much as mail to protect him, had protected all of them with his own life, had fought Arthur tooth and nail when he felt the king was in the wrong, had risked his life several times over protecting all of them (now that he knew the man had magic, previously unexplained events started slotting into place for Leon. No one was  _ that  _ lucky, even  _ Arthur’s _ company of knights), had done  _ all of this _ while hiding magic that would kill him. 

He thought of Arthur, the man he’d watched grow into a capable leader and king. He thought of the utter devastation in his eyes when Leon had come upon them in the woods, Merlin buried deep in the king’s arms. Arthur had fought against his very nature when he’d thrown his sword down, left himself unprotected against the person who could lay his flesh to ashes with a few words and the gleam of golden eyes.

Leon shuddered, and his spine grew strong once again. He drew himself up to face Arthur’s eyes.

Leon could have the courage to stand up for what was right. He knew, deep in his heart, that the edict against magic was at best immoral, and at worst barbaric. He was ashamed to admit to himself that he had wrapped himself so tightly in the garb of a knight that he’d nearly forgotten what it meant to  _ be  _ one. 

He shifted to kneel on one knee in front of Arthur, head bowed.

“I pledge my loyalty to the citizens of Camelot, and I promise, sire, that I will protect them, even from you, if need be.” He unconsciously echoed Gwaine’s words from only the day before.

Arthur grasped his arm, and Leon looked into Arthur’s eyes, which seemed lighter and less tortured than they had a moment before.

“It’s  _ Arthur,  _ Leon. We are never less than equals.” 

Leon smiled, emotion in his chest threatening to burst through, and amended,

“I swear it, Arthur _.”  _

Gwaine, Percival following on his heels, snorted at them, shooing them out of the way so the large man could pick up Merlin.

“That was so fucking sweet, I don’t know what to do with myself.” His voice was caustic and sharp, but it held an element of relief neither man knew what to make of. 

Leon grinned uncharacteristically at him, and said, “I have a suggestion.” He held out two specific fingers, one on each hand, and Gwaine reeled back in surprise, forcing Percival to step around him. 

“Well, look who finally decided to grow a sense of humour-if not a set of-” 

Whatever he was going to say (they could all guess) was cut off by Merlin’s pained grunt as Percival slid him out of the bedroll and into strong arms.

The smirk on Gwaine’s face dropped instantly, and he was by Merlin’s side, helping Percival adjust the man in his arms. 

Arthur shook Leon’s shoulder in an affectionate display both men were satisfied with. He stood up carefully, muscles protesting, and joined the two knights hovering over Merlin.

“How is he?” He asked, looking at his manservant.

Neither man answered him, but it was obvious. Merlin was pale, far too pale even for his normal light complexion, and his lips were dry and chapped. Despite a lack of fever, he shivered in Percival’s arms, and his eyes moved rapidly underneath closed lids. He looked absolutely ghastly.

It was to everyone’s great surprise, then, that as Percival started readjusting the man’s position in his big arms, Merlin’s eyelids started fluttering. Gwaine crowded in next to him and stroked his head, murmuring,

“Come on, Merls. Open up those big blues for me, yeah?”

A deep fluttering gnawed in Arthur’s gut, but he didn’t have time to adequately analyse it before Merlin’s eyes did, in fact, open up. 

For the first couple of seconds, his eyes remained cloudy and grey, and Merlin’s face was one of absolute confusion, brow creasing and lips moving without saying a word. 

Then, “Wha-?” He looked up towards Gwaine, then, and the knight smiled back down at him with incredible tenderness and sweet relief. 

“There y’are.” Gwaine’s natural brogue slipped through a bit there, and his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. His hand caressed the soft skin on Merlin’s cheeks, and there was indescribable joy in his expression, warring with a deep grief that battled for dominance in his eyes.

“Gwaine?” Merlin frowned, and his eyes grew clearer, sharper. He struggled to sit up in Percival’s arms, and bit back a gasp as it jostled his tied down arm. The pain strung through him, clearing out the last of the confusion, and Arthur could pinpoint the exact moment he remembered.

Merlin’s eyes darted to meet Arthur’s, then dropped to the ground. He tilted his face up to the sky, and they could all see him shuddering for control, eyes tearing. He drew in deep, trembling breaths, then relaxed.

His eyes dropped back to the dirt, and he struggled to stand on his own, wobbling as weakened muscles fought to keep him upright. Unsure of what to do, Percival let him down, but wound a big arm around the smaller man’s waist, feeling the trembling in the muscles. Gwaine reached for Merlin’s uninjured shoulder, and grasped it gently, dipping his head down to look at Merlin’s face.

“Merlin, are you-” He trailed off, not really sure what he was really asking. The man in front of him shook his head, dark mussed hair shifting, and a quiet voice came from Merlin.

“Gwaine- _ Sir Gwaine,  _ you don’t have to-” He gestured around, head tilted up but eyes firmly planted on the dirt between his feet. “To  _ pretend.  _ I know.” Merlin’s throat visibly tightened with the effort it took him to stop a cry escaping, and he shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

Gwaine drooped, and his voice was thick when he said, “I understand. I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.” 

Merlin hated him for Gwaine’s inability to protect him. He understood, really, he did. Here was the first person to ever take any sort of interest in him beyond a brief tumble in the sheets, and he repaid the kindness by allowing a blade at Merlin’s throat. He shouldn’t have been as surprised and  _ let down  _ as he was, though. No one had ever wanted him around for very long. 

He shook his head, long hair still matted and beating him in the face.

That wasn’t quite true.  _ Merlin  _ had wanted him around, he’d even said so, but of course Gwaine had to go and fuck that up as well. He withdrew his hands, and skipped a couple steps back awkwardly, nervous and unsure. 

Percival looked between the two of them, frowning, and opened his mouth to say something when Merlin mumbled,

“Shall we be off, then?” His voice was watery. 

Gwaine shut down entirely, face going blank, and nodded absently, then more firmly. Percival wanted to reach out, reassure him that whatever was going on in his head (there was a  _ clear  _ misunderstanding here) wasn’t reality, but he was almost immediately distracted by Merlin shifting his weight, obviously intending to move to his horse. 

Arthur, less oblivious than Percival might have once given him credit for, narrowed his eyes at Merlin and then Gwaine, but shook it off, reaching for Hengroen already.

“Let’s ride.” 

Percival tipped Merlin into his saddle, and received a quiet  _ thank you _ from Merlin. Gwaine, an unbearable look of pain on his face, but unwilling to let Merlin out of his sight, hovered at the edges of their interaction.

Whenever Merlin grunted or made a face, still in real pain, Gwaine’s hands would twitch towards him, and he would clasp them together once again, until finally the long, torturous process was over, and Merlin sat astride his mare, breathing heavily, face grey, but mounted.

Gwaine spun and pulled himself onto his saddle, fussing with Verbosus’ mane, avoiding any eye contact or attempts to communicate. Every few moments, though, his eyes would flick up towards Merlin, as if to reassure himself the man was ok.

Arthur, finished ensuring the tack was on properly (Hengroen had a nasty habit of inflating his belly before someone tightened the straps, and Arthur did  _ not  _ want to fall face first into the thick mud today), paused and looked around. 

Elyan was stiff as a board on his poor horse, who pranced in place, nervous. Percival was flanking Merlin, and his eyes kept darting to Gwaine, who held himself painfully on the saddle, hunched over and almost...defeated, in a way Arthur had never seen him before. 

There had been a clear breakdown in communication between his manservant and the knight, though Arthur wasn’t sure what Gwaine had heard. There had to be time for it later, though. Merlin may have been awake, but he was fading fast, and almost slumping into his saddle.

Arthur gestured to Leon, then, drawing closer to where the knight was about to mount up, asked,

“Do you have any rope?” He nodded towards Merlin, who looked ready to collapse where he sat. 

Leon’s eyes widened. “Yes, sire, but….” He hesitated, and Arthur resisted the urge to tell him to call him  _ Arthur,  _ they’d just had a long and  _ emotional talk  _ about it not an hour before,  _ honestly,  _ Leon. 

“But what? Arthur asked, and he flexed his hands surreptitiously. Loading up Hengroen had come at a cost, and the pain in his hands was back with a fierce vengeance.

“Couldn’t that make things….worse?” Leon’s eyes met Arthur’s, and there was concern and worry for the manservant in his gaze.

Arthur sighed, and picked at a scab. “It’s either that or have him ride with one of us. You may be right, but…”

Merlin had been so  _ twitchy  _ as he was helped into his saddle. Every movement from Percival, every sound, no matter how gentle or reassuring, made him flinch and turn grey, causing Percival to skitter back, hands raised, only to rush forward when the lack of support left Merlin reeling. It would have been comical if not for the situation.

Leon followed the line of logic, and didn’t necessarily like the outcome, if his pursed lips were any indication, but he didn’t argue, seeing no alternative than trying to ride with a tense and stiff Merlin. It would cause the horse no end of pain and spook Merlin as well. 

He shook his head, discontented with the results, and reached into his bags to pull out the length of rope he always kept after Sir Kay nearly lost his steed to a bog. He handed it to Arthur, and warned,

“He’s not going to like it, Arthur.” Leon saw Merlin looking towards them with dull curiosity in his eyes. The knight repressed a shiver. The warlock’s eyes looked nearly dead with pain and the distinct burn of betrayal.

Arthur groused, “I  _ know that,  _ I just.” He stopped and ran hands through his hair, but tucked them behind his back when Leon tried to lean in and take a closer look at them. 

“I am running out of options, Leon.” 

Well, that was true enough, and they had spent enough time arguing over inconsequential things, so Leon followed Arthur to where Merlin was hunched over atop Llamrei. 

They stopped when they reached his side, and Merlin turned his head miserably to look at them. There was an audible hitch in his breath when he saw the rope in Arthur’s hands.

“We’re just going to tie you to your saddle so you don’t fall off, Merlin, I  _ swear to you that’s it.”  _ Arthur pleaded (somewhere in his mind, Uther’s voice rang out:  _ Kings do not beg, they demand results) _ , and was both disappointed and relieved when he saw his manservant go nearly limp, all the fight draining out of his body.

Merlin nodded listlessly, and Arthur stepped forward to tie his legs down. He knew Merlin well enough to know that he had enough trouble staying in the saddle when he was just sleepy, let alone concussed. Merlin watched him with lifeless eyes and barely managed to suppress a flinch as the king looped rope around his waist.

He wasn’t a simpleton. He knew they were bringing him home to burn. He was only surprised that they were all being so gentle. Perhaps they were afraid of his power, wary of an escape, pretending so he would be led back like a cow to slaughter. He bit back a snort. His magic was gone. It had fled him, left him all alone to blaze by himself. No matter. It didn’t  _ matter _ anymore. If he couldn’t convince Arthur magic wasn’t made up of the darkest dredges of evil in the spirit, then what was the point of living without his other half? The Dragon’s voice rang in his ear, then, and he grimaced, squirming uncomfortably.

_ The half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole.  _

Well, no. He didn’t  _ hate  _ Arthur, did he? 

His heart clenched, and Merlin gasped for a quick breath, hunching over just a little bit more. Arthur paused in his tying ( _ why was he being so gentle?),  _ but Merlin paid him no mind. 

No. He could never hate Arthur. He was  _ made _ to protect him, to care for him, to  _ cherish  _ him like no one had ever before. There was no bone in his body that had been created to ever do anything but  _ protect  _ Arthur, to ensure his absolute safety. If he had to die for Arthur, well, he’d made up his mind long ago that was an acceptable trade. 

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice called to him, drawing him out of the near-panic he’d so suddenly found himself in.

He twitched at the sound, then looked down, meeting Arthur’s eyes. They were so, so blue, and open, vulnerable. Merlin wanted nothing more than to reach down and reassure him, but...he had no desire to die before saying goodbye to Gaius. They would allow him that, at least, they  _ must _ .

Some of his thought process must have shown on his face, because Arthur was  _ there,  _ hands resting on Llamrei’s side, an expression Merlin would have once read as  _ concern  _ etched deep into his face.

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice was gentle and soft, so soothing, and the warlock wanted to wrap himself in it, to hold onto this when the king was screaming for his death. 

“Merlin, I’m not taking you home to burn. I’m taking you to Gaius, he can  _ help you. _ ”

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat, and he twisted a bit. He _would_ be allowed to say goodbye. He didn’t know what to make of Arthur’s vow not to burn him. Perhaps he would be allowed the mercy of a blade or ax, severing his head from his shoulders? 

He had a wild image of his headless body slumping to the ground, blood streaming from the hole, and Arthur grasping his head by the dark hair, lifting it up and screaming, 

_ ‘This is what happens to traitors of Camelot!’  _ The crowd would roar, eager for blood and gore. He shuddered, and turned his head away.

A new, worse thought struck him. Was he going to be  _ collared?  _ Iron, he’d learned at a very young age, was unpleasant against his skin in even mild doses-carrying a bucket, even polishing Arthur’s sword, with the small amount of iron in it, made his skin itch and twist in odd ways. An iron bracelet his mother had, once clasped around his wrist, had sent him to his knees, nerves firing and shredding at him. An iron collar, thick and unyielding, studded with iron spikes, would be far, far worse. 

He’d heard of it in other kingdoms, of kings who had pet sorcerers, their magic chained away at all times, made slow and dull from the pain their collars caused. Merlin knew that it was possible to cast some small spells through the pain-he’d called to his mother when the bracelet clasped around his wrist-but only minor glamours or tricks, and it would shred the mind to bits if not used judiciously. Most kings didn’t seem to know or care that forcing their  _ pets  _ to cast small spells such as heating up their bathwater, or ripening fruit to perfection (all things he’d done out of love and a deep sense of service to Arthur, of his  _ own free will _ ) would eventually leave them with a hollow shell, a slave whose mind retreated so far back it was impossible to reach. He wondered dully if that life would be better than burning, or if it was like burning all the time.

Merlin shivered. Gaius had warned him of the consequences of using his magic in sight, but what was he _meant to do?_ If he hadn’t used it, they’d all have been dead, and his destiny would have meant nothing. _Arthur’s life_ would have meant nothing, and that was something unthinkable, something he could not have allowed. 

No. He had made his own decision, even if it would be his last as a free man. Being by Arthur’s side, even dead out of his mind with pain (sorcerers  _ chose  _ magic. He  _ was magic _ ), was better than being burnt at the stake. At least he would remain with Arthur, would always be there to protect him.

At this last thought, he felt a spark of magic creep back into his bones, almost sheepishly, curling around his heart as if to protect it. Not enough to do anything with, not even enough to move a pebble with, but it was a comfort to know it hadn’t totally abandoned him. 

Arthur watched Merlin’s face go shades paler, watched shadows grow under his eyes (and hated himself for causing them), and his shoulders hunch as if bearing the weight of the world upon them. For all Arthur knew, he was. 

The king didn’t understand why the warlock wasn’t slicing them to ribbons with his  _ magic- _ perhaps there was a finite amount? He didn’t know, and the thought of Merlin drained of light was terrifying-but he wasn’t going to ask. The last thing they needed was a repeat of yesterday’s events.

He didn’t even acknowledge the thought that Merlin was willing to die if Arthur willed it, too afraid of what that meant, of the power he held in his hands, so much more than a mere king’s.

Arthur patted Llamrei’s side, leaving a rusty streak of drying blood, which he tried to rub away with his sleeve. She was on edge, picking up on Merlin’s tenseness and the fact that her rider was tied on, but she stretched her neck out and nuzzled Arthur briefly, glad to have someone showing her some affection.

He smiled at her, and scratched behind one ear, shifting her forelock out of the trusting amber eyes. Dropping his hands, he turned to his own mount, who nickered at him impatiently, eager for some attention of his own.

He swept a hand over Hengroen’s shoulders, then, and pulled himself into the saddle.

The ride back was quiet and tense. The need for the ropes had been proven only two hours in, when Merlin went limp on his horse, Llamrei stopping dead in her tracks and whickering, upset. They halted, and as Arthur dismounted, something woke Merlin up, his head snapping with an audible click as he panicked and fought the ropes briefly.

Gwaine drew a little closer, pain in his eyes, but stopped short when Merlin glanced frantically at him and relaxed in his bounds, dropping his eyes to the ground, and nudging Llamrei forward again.

Arthur mounted once again, and caught up with Merlin.

Percival, behind him, made an attempt to draw Gwaine into conversation, but the smaller knight’s responses were short and curt, almost angry. 

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asked Merlin quietly, and the dark head shook from side to side.

“Fine, thank you, milord.” Was the soft answer, no fight or fire left in his body. Merlin seemed content to watch the trees pass by, and listen to the birds around them sing.

Arthur was suddenly furious. He wanted to grab Merlin by the shoulders and  _ shake  _ until there was some kind of response. Anything, even fear, would be better than this….this  _ compliance.  _ His hands clenched into fists against his will, and the sharp pain of cuts bursting open again reminded him of exactly whose responsibility it was that Merlin was this way. He had no one to blame but himself for the current circumstances, and  _ how dare he  _ think he had a  _ right  _ to lay a finger on his servant? 

Arthur wondered, a bit wildly, if Uther ever felt this way when those around him had disobeyed orders or displeased him in the past. He knew he had several marks on his back from his father’s…. _ lessons  _ on how to behave. He rolled his shoulders, long healed marks suddenly itching with phantom pain. 

It was a long ride back to Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know they've been in the forest forever, but Arthur needed this time to pull himself together, just a bit, kind of like crowning a king. That is to say that I saw him becoming more of a king as he dealt with apologies. He could have chosen to pretend like nothing happened with Leon, and the knight would have accepted that, but he's trying to bring a new order, a better era, in, and well, a strong kingdom is not built on fear and prejudice, though Uther certainly thought so. He doesn't just want to be a better king, which is what is expected of him (as every king expects their child to be better), he wants to be a better person, and I think that's far more important. Positions of leadership don't necessarily corrupt someone, but with great power comes the responsibility to constantly evolve yourself into a better being. He realises this in a way Uther never got, too blind with grief and too enamoured with power to understand. I hope you'll put up with this, because I know I'm drawing this out to its limits. 
> 
> My next few ramblings deal with mental illness, so if you feel uncomfortable with that or simply uninterested, please skip over it, because no one's writings or thoughts are worth your pain, I promise.
> 
> I've never taken much pleasure in platitudes like 'everything will be ok,' or 'you've done your best,' or 'you'll be ok,' because, at least in my life, pain is a part of the game. There is no life without death, and no way to dismiss pain even when you are joyful. That sounds a bit dramatic, perhaps, but in some ways, it makes everything just that little bit sharper. It's freeing, writing this under a screen name, and so maybe that's why I feel less unease about sharing my life, in the hopes that maybe someone can take something out of my own difficulties. Major depression is something I am no stranger to, although ironically it probably happened during the most stable period of my life as a mid-teenager. Probably something in there about not coping well with times of peace, but I'll leave Freud out of my thoughts for now, thank you. 
> 
> That itching feeling of wanting to feel pain because it is sharper than joy and more lasting, for me, came out of the deep desire to feel something. When everything feels wrong and the world seems so, so muted, sometimes pain seems like the best thing you can have, something that doesn't go away, something that will stick with you when everything else abandons you. It is destructive, and it is tempting, believe me, I know. I understand. Maybe that's one of the reasons I empathise so strongly with Arthur. He does a lot of what I do when I'm struggling, though I'm certainly no King Arthur of Albion. My point is, pain is something that, for a lot of us, is always there. It never leaves, and it's very tempting to give in. I know times are tough, and I know how much things will change for all of us, but we can get through it together. If the people surrounding you don't support you, find people who will, because family may begin with blood, but it certainly doesn't end with it. You get to choose so few things in this life, so choose people who care about you and care for you. 
> 
> I'm not always the best example of a healthy human being, but I know how much things can hurt. I wish I could reach out to each of you, be there for you in the flesh, but unfortunately I rather think that would dismiss the whole purpose of this format. Still, my father said something once to me, years before he passed. - I will be there, beating by your heart, everytime it seems like yours is about to fail. Life is scary, and it isn't easy. We were made no promises of happiness, and sometimes it seems like such a battle. That's what I know best, though, so maybe it isn't as odd to me as it should be. Still, there is hope in the darkest of times, and at the deepest points of pain, there can still be light. 
> 
> Anyway, I'm sure you've had enough of my thoughts on this matter, but please know that I wish you all well. If you ever want it, if you ever need it, my support is there, because pain shared can become a shield instead of an attack. I've been accused in the past of being intense, so feel free to take what you wish (or not) from this spiel. I meant it, though. I'm a person writing through a computer screen, but I see you, and I appreciate you as you, no more and no less than that. I don't care what you can give, what you can't give, and I don't care about your mistakes. You are you, and that is infinitely more precious than anyone can realise. Be well, and please be safe. The world is changing, but we can be on the brighter side, if only we hold on and dig our claws into what we see as important. Thank you, as always, for your kindness, your support, and your appreciation, because it means more to me than I can ever truly put into words.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely chickadees. I hope this note finds you well and safe. Truth be told, quite a bit has shifted in my own life since I last posted, and it has been difficult dealing with some of the fallout relating to the world's lack of foresight in preparing for this crisis. Still, one must never give up hope, and the greatest strength we have is in our voice. I urge you, if you find something unfair or unjust, you must speak out. It is difficult, and painful, and all too often a lonely road, but all the choices that have been made have led up to this moment in time. Perhaps I'm facing the reality that my generation will be the one to deal with the emotional and financial fallout of our own arrogance. When we consider ourselves invincible, that is when we are at our most vulnerable. Forgive the lecture, truly I mean no harm, but I have little energy to spare to be halting and hesitant after a truly difficult few days. Life is hard, and all too often it's accompanied by loss, be it of loved ones or places, but we must continue marching forward, because I firmly believe that we will find the sunlight through the clouds, if we just keep going forward. I'm sure that after I finish the last of my exams and look this over again, I'll be a bit alarmed at the forceful tone I am taking, but it is only because I believe in you, believe in us, believe in our ability to make the world better. I know that a lot of us are scared right now, and we have reason to be, but. Take heart. You are not alone, and my support is there with you always. We can shield each other and grow stronger together. 
> 
> As for the story, I felt it necessary to handle a few issues. Gwaine is protective of Merlin, but he's also struggling with serious doubt and self-hatred. Arthur can see this, and probably can understand better than the man knows. I know Merlin is not well at the mo, but Gwaine needed someone to support him even as he tirelessly fought for Merlin. Arthur is hurting as well, but with the return to Camelot, the burden of kingship is locked squarely on his shoulders, giving him responsibility to help others, even though he denies himself the same thing. Elyan, as I'm sure you've noticed, is struggling more than the rest, and I have plans for him.This fic has been a blessing, because it's allowed me to play out the emotions I've felt and the emotions I've felt from others. That's not to say, of course, that I have some special magical ability (though I will admit it would be cool, albeit exhausting), but...well, strong emotions are felt strongly, and they leave imprints on you. Although I enjoy drawing out the tension, I couldn't leave Gwaine to hurt by himself. He's not done with these feelings, because they're something that need to be worked through (and can't be properly worked through in the limits of this fic, though I will do my absolute best to give them justice), and...there's enough cruelty in the world. He deserves love, and he is my sweet stabby wildcat whom I adore. Anyway, these are my thoughts on this chapter. My apologies for the rushed, perhaps clipped tone, because I cannot overstate my gratitude and affection for all of you.

There had never been such a sense of relief, Arthur mused as they rumbled into Camelot, in his return to his home. 

Guards leapt out of their way as they thundered through the gates, horse’s flanks heaving, strong hooves pounding the cobblestones. A group of patrolling knights, outfitted with spears and pikes, splintered in two, half continuing on patrol, and the other half rushing up to where Arthur’s company pulled up, already calling for squires and stableboys.

“Is everything quite alright, sire?” One of them, a fresh-faced youngling Arthur didn’t know the name of, asked.

Arthur ignored him in favour of leaping off his mount, sprinting to Merlin’s side, Llamrei picking up her feet anxiously as the warlock slumped in his saddle.

  
  


Merlin stared up at the imposing, towering figure of the castle. Sunset had just begun, and the sky was painted in shades of gold, streaks of blue, and spots of pinkish red. He drank it all in, knowing this was likely the last time he would see the sky until his execution.

Arthur hurried up to him, and Merlin disregarded the frantic attempts to untie him, letting go of his fear and just...floating on a bed of warmth the magic that twined around his heart offered. As the final knot came untied, Merlin _let go,_ closing his eyes and sinking into the warm and safe embrace of his magic, committing to memory the freedom of the open sky as he would never experience it again.

Arthur swore violently as Merlin started tipping over, going limp on his seat, and grabbed the rough cloth the servant wore desperately, hands burning as they rubbed against the inexpensive weave. Gwaine was there, steadying him and Merlin, and Arthur chanced a look at the knight’s face. He looked tired and defeated, shoulders hunched even as he strained to keep Merlin on the saddle.

Percival materialised by their sides, then ( _how the hell_ he did that, Arthur didn’t know _)_ , and replaced them, picking the warlock up with ease, large arms barely straining as he lifted Merlin bodily off his mare, tucking him gently into a warm embrace, face pressing lightly into the cool metal of the large knight’s chainmail. 

Merlin didn’t so much as twitch at the sudden change of position, and Arthur knew he was out of it entirely, gone again, and a deep well of frustration simmered in his gut.

Arthur pressed the reins of his mount into a squire’s hand, and beckoned to Percival, Leon falling into step next to him. 

Gwaine slid in front of him, exhaustion evident in the tenseness of his shoulders, but he held firm and unyielding. 

“I will not allow you to go any further with this until I have a guarantee.” His voice was low-pitched so as not to attract any undue attention, but it was like steel, sharp and clear.

  
  


Arthur was half-tempted to snap something back, but held back, reminding himself of the circumstances. He was king of Camelot, yes, but the man standing in front of him was nothing but loyal and brave, undeserving of the sharp side of his tongue. 

Arthur took a deep breath in, then released it, lowering himself to one knee. He could hear gasps from patrolling guards before the remaining three knights of his company boxed them from view, covering the sight, protecting him as they always did.

Arthur was stiff as he knelt, but there was blazing emotion in his eyes as he looked up at Gwaine, who stood his ground, unsure but refusing to shift in place.

“Sir Gwaine, you have been a fierce and loyal defender of Merlin,” Arthur met his gaze steadily, “Even when I have not.”

Gwaine bit his lip hard, and Arthur could see emotion welling up and threatening to break through.

“I swear upon my crown that I mean Merlin no harm,” He paused, then added wryly, “No harm except the foul taste of Gaius’s medicines.”

Gwaine must have bit into a crack on parched lips, and a droplet of blood welled to the surface. He quickly sucked it away, but Arthur was reminded once again how deeply this situation must have cut at him, that the man standing before him was intensely emotional at the best of times, that he had to choose his words carefully or risk losing a knight and a friend.

Arthur rose, and held out his arm to Gwaine. “You have never once let him down where I have, and I do not expect you to trust my word, but please, allow us to take him to Gaius. He needs medical attention.”

Gwaine’s eyes dropped to the side despairingly at the first part of Arthur’s little speech, making Arthur wonder just what it was he had heard when Merlin had last spoken to him. 

Still, he looked up to meet Arthur’s eyes, and nodded, retreating behind Percival’s bulk. The large man eyed him with concern, but followed Arthur quickly into the castle, Merlin clutched tightly to his barrel chest. 

They stumbled into Gaius’s chambers with a bang, door slamming open to hit the jamb, and Gaius jumped where he stood over his books.

“What is the meaning of all this?” He demanded irritably, only to drop a glass vial on the floor when he looked up and saw Merlin. 

“Merlin!” Gaius cried out, hurrying to his ward’s side. He peeled back an eyelid, and was concerned when an unfocused blue eye stared back at him.

Nudging Percival roughly towards the cot he kept folded up, already rushing to open it so they could lay him down, the physician managed to wrestle the folding bed down, and pushed it near the fireplace. 

That done, he bustled over to where Merlin was being laid down gently, and swept his hands over the arm tied to the servant’s side. Percival moved aside to let him in, but stood guard over Merlin’s head, a towering presence, arms folded firmly across his chest.

Gaius paused in his examination to notice all eyes upon him. Blowing out an irritated breath, he demanded, “I don’t suppose one of you could tell me what happened!” 

An interesting shift in the room unplayed itself before his very eyes. Leon dropped his head, curls falling to cover his face. Elyan looked a strange mixture of alarmed and disinterested, a striking contrast to his usual concerned and empathetic nature. 

Gwaine locked his eyes on Merlin, still blissfully out of it. Percival, near Merlin’s head, dropped his arms and his shoulders drooped.

Arthur, though, he met Gaius’s eyes, and the physician was alarmed to see a sheen of emotion threatening to break through.

What _happened?_

Arthur cleared his throat, but the shimmer in his eyes only grew thicker as he stepped forward. “Gaius, we _know.”_

Gaius felt his heart stop for a beat. Covering the way his face no doubt went pale, he snapped back, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Sire.” 

The two stared off, one mournful and the other fierce. It would have continued this way if not for Gwaine’s low, pained voice breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“Merlin’s got magic.” 

  
  


Gaius stumbled back, clutching at anything that would stop him from going down, a table, a bench, even books littering his workspace. He felt strong hands clamp down gently on his shoulders, a firm chest behind him, and someone guided him to sit down. 

His head was spinning, and he managed to croak out,

“How?” 

Merlin had never been as careful as Gaius warned him to be, and although death was a constant threat to the boy he considered his only child, he’d never quite imagined it in this particular, awful way. 

The path forward was clear. He stood up defiantly, ignoring the way his legs shook and how his knees were like jelly, ignored Percival’s fluttering attempts to get him to sit back down, and hissed at Arthur,

“I will not heal him so you may execute him, Arthur.” 

His eyes flashed gold, raw unrestrained emotion taking over his mind, magic swirling through the air, so sharp and thick one could nearly taste it, jagged edges of smoke and rain twisting around them, the scent heavy. 

The books around him shuddered, their pages flipping wildly. It had been decades since he had utilised this kind of powerful magic, and he could feel it howling with joy as it broke free of the careful cage he’d placed it in during Uther’s reign.

For a glorious instant, he was young and strong once again, filled to the brim with a power many could only dream of, and it beckoned him to forget himself, allow it to take over and _defend_ where it had been unable to for so long. 

Gaius, however, knew who he was, had known since he was a child that his destiny was to heal. He would not allow magic, no matter how tempting, to steal his identity from him. 

The physician took a deep breath, and breathed out a pure golden mist of magic. It settled around his hands, licking at them as a dog might, begging to be set free. He controlled it tightly, marveling not for the first time at the strength Merlin possessed, for Gaius held no illusions about his own power. What he struggled to control was a mere fraction of the magic whirling about in the young warlock.

Gaius was not by far the most powerful sorcerer in Camelot, his talents tending to lend themselves to healing. Merlin was an unrestrained storm shrieking into the abyss, limitless pools and wells of power to be drawn upon. Still, Gaius had _power_ , and the amount he had he would use in defense of the boy lying helpless and vulnerable on the cot. Deep love replaced the sensation of barbed power, and Gaius felt himself in control of the magic once again as it relaxed into his grip, yielding to his command.

“ _Shit.”_ Gwaine breathed out, awe replacing grief for a brief, wonderful instant, pure joy lighting up his features, a broad grin spreading across his face.

Elyan had a hand on his sword, backed into a corner, hands trembling with what could only be fear. 

Leon looked completely bemused, as if Gaius had been the one sane person in Camelot, and now he was realising the utter madness he’d fallen into when offered the position of knight.

Percival, behind him, mirrored Gwaine’s grin, eyes lighting up with wonder, and the big man looked as if he were a child again, marveling at something outside his grasp, but all the more amazing for it.

Arthur stood stock still, a hand still reaching out for Gaius. He worked his jaw uselessly for a few moments, then closed his mouth with an audible _click._ A flush covered his cheeks, and he buried his head in his hands, which Gaius dully noted were pink and bloody.

“Does _everyone_ in my bloody kingdom have magic?” He groaned out. Beside him, Leon shifted, and favoured the king with a commiserating glance. 

Gaius didn’t know how to respond, and Arthur dropped his hands, pinning him with a baleful look.

“No, don’t respond. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to discuss this later.” Gaius flinched back automatically towards Merlin, and any signs of hostility dropped from Arthur’s frame.

“No, _no_ Gaius.” He shifted forward, open honesty ringing on his face. “Merlin will not come to any harm by my hand.” Arthur thought a moment, then added, “Nor by any other, if I have any say in it. Neither will you, I swear it on my life and my throne.” 

He turned to the assembled men. His back grew straighter, his posture stronger, and the firelight caught his hair, crowning him in blazing gold. None could do anything but stare as he tossed his head back, fire and passion catching light in his eyes, and proclaimed as a king,

“No harm shall come to those who have the king’s protection. If any disagree, step forward and make your case now, but make no mistake as to where my loyalties lie.” 

He met the eyes of each individual knight, and, one by one, they all knelt to him. All but one.

Gwaine stood firm, defying convention as he had for twenty odd years. He had pain in his voice as he spoke, matching Arthur’s words blow-for-blow. 

“Arthur, I have sworn allegiance to you and to Camelot.” He clasped his hands behind his back and tossed his hair back, shoulders firm and straight.

“My life is your life, and Camelot’s life, and I would trade it in an instant for your protection.” He glanced over at Merlin, tenderness taking pride of place in his eyes for a moment.

“My loyalty, though, is to Merlin, and that is something I cannot throw away, even for you, Arthur.”

Gwaine stood there, defiant but nervous, heart swelling with the truth of this last statement. His declaration of devotion and faith rang out with absolute finality, and Arthur could feel the sincerity of it hanging heavy in the air.

Five pairs of eyes watched the king as he strode forward and clasped Gwaine’s shoulder. The man flinched back, and Arthur ached to reassure him, to convince him of his place amongst them, but knew that was a battle he had to fight for himself.

“Sir Gwaine of Camelot.” He pronounced each syllable sharply, carefully, making sure these next few words were _heard._

“When we went across that toll bridge all that time ago, the Keeper of the Bridge called you Strength. At the time, I didn’t understand what that meant.” 

Arthur’s face twisted wryly. “It’s rather apparent now what he meant by Merlin representing Magic.”

Gwaine sketched out a hesitant laugh in a puffing breath.

Arthur squeezed the knight’s shoulder gently. “I had assumed the entire affair was absurd, and the names we were given nothing but a falsity, something given to twist our minds. After all,” Arthur was grinning now, affection evident in his eyes, 

“Strength? Gwaine, you’re one _hell_ of a fighter, but not exactly a bull like our Percival.”

Percival, still on one knee, smothered a smile.

Arthur continued, “No, what he meant was your strength, your inner conviction to do what is right, and damn the consequences. You see the best in people, and you’ve always had a keen ability to cut through pretension and undue arrogance.” 

A soft smile broke through on Gwaine’s face, and Arthur was glad to see it.

“Your ability and _willingness_ to throw yourself into harm’s way to protect what is right is no less than remarkable, and the reason you are are one of the most incredible men I have ever met.” 

At this, Gwaine’s eyes grew shadowed, and they dropped to the floor. Arthur shook his shoulder, then, to bring his attention back.

“Don’t do that. Don’t doubt yourself.” Arthur told him firmly.

Gwaine reached one hand up to scrub at his eyes, tears itching to escape.

“You came back here, not for me, but for Merlin. I know that, and I’m grateful for it.” Arthur released his shoulder, but pinned Gwaine in place with a look of startling intensity.

“You have acted as his shield in a time where lesser men would have done nothing.” The three knights behind him shifted uncomfortably, but Arthur would have all of them hear this. 

“I was a lesser man, I _am_ a lesser man, and as your king, _as your friend,_ I cannot extend my gratitude to you far enough for ensuring his survival. He makes me a _better_ man, and the thought of losing him due to my own vanity and pride…” Arthur trailed off, but the pain was clear in his blue eyes.

Gwaine found the strength to speak through the tightness of his throat. “You are not a bad man, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur looked at him incredulously, and Gwaine amended with a small smile, “You can be a bit of a prat,” Arthur laughed, head thrown back, and something in Gwaine was glad to see it, 

“But your heart is kind and true. I can think of no better man to serve under than you.”

Arthur stopped laughing, and looked at Gwaine with a soft expression. He glanced over at Merlin, and Gwaine followed his eyes.

“I can.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember this, if there is anything I may ever offer to you that might be of use. The big moments in life may help define a person-standing up against an evil king, for instance, or proving the innocence of a man sentenced to die, but it is all the little moments in between that flesh people out and make them so worthwhile. The little things, like what kind of music you listen to, flicking soap bubbles at your friends or siblings, staying up late to watch the rain pour down-all of these things are so important to creating you. TV and movies portray the strength of an individual in easy bites-Tony Stark's "I am Iron Man,' or, yeah, Ahsoka Tano's "I am no Jedi," but the reality of the matter is, those moments will shape your life but they are not you. I don't know if any of this makes sense, and I'm a bit too knackered at the moment to really explain myself well, so I'll leave you with this. Don't believe you are any less important or crucial to the success of our world because you haven't had these massive moments, a time where you clearly shone through. It is far more important, in my mind, to be those individuals committing quiet acts of kindness, because they are the ones who support us.
> 
> I've had those major moments in my life, and although I will say they have given me a strength I didn't know I had, the little things in life-holding the door open for someone, complimenting them on a new scarf, being there for someone when you didn't need to be, these are the moments in life that truly matter. If you are not suited to being in the public eye, that's entirely ok. You don't need to be. Allow others to take that burden, and instead focus on committing one act of random kindness a day. Like workers in shops and hospitals, it is the unseen actions which make the biggest difference, not the ones which make the news. Be safe <3


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..this chapter deals with misuse of alcohol as a coping mechanism, as well as a panic attack. I never want to be the cause of pain for anyone, so if that is something too difficult for you to handle right now (no judgements whatsoever, I couldn't bear to look at any fics that had hospitals in them for at least eight months after my father passed), please feel free to skip this chapter. My words and my writing are not worth your pain, I promise. Be safe and be well.

Gwaine stared down at the tankard of ale in front of him. After being unceremoniously thrown out of the physician’s quarters like the rest of the company-save for Percival, whom Gaius had taken a close look at, eyeing bulging muscles, and deeming him necessary in Merlin’s recovery-Gwaine had taken off for the nearest tavern, shrugging off Leon’s hand, glaring daggers at Elyan.

He had stumbled into the closest one, unseeing and uncaring of anything save for the alcohol, ready to get himself well and truly plastered, until all the emotion swirling in his chest, threatening to choke him at any moment, steal his breath, would be numbed out, replaced with a warm, absent giddiness. He’d plunked a silver coin on the bartop, and instructed them to keep supplying him tankards until he passed out. 

This was a tavern Gwaine hadn’t been to before, floor cleaner than most, and the servers exchanged concerned glances, but ultimately did as he asked, eyeing the Pendragon insignia adorning his cloak, draped around him. 

He’d downed four full tankards in a quarter hour, ale hitting his empty stomach and fizzing unpleasantly, but he’d ignored it, used to the effects. On his fifth, Gwaine was struck by Arthur’s words.

_ You are one of the most incredible men I have ever met. Don’t doubt yourself. _

He scratched viciously at his eyes, tears threatening to escape, leaving faint red marks on his eyelids as broken nails caught the delicate flesh. 

Gwaine slammed his hand down on the tabletop, and roared at the frightened barmaid, 

“Your ale is  _ shite!  _ I’ve had enough of it to make a horse stumble around pissed off its legs, but  _ it isn’t working!”  _

  
  


A strong hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he looked to see Leon standing above him, mouth set in a firm, displeased line. Well, fuck him. Gwaine was here for a reason, and had no patience to play soldiers with the man tonight.

Leon nodded to the barmaid, sweeping up to the divide, asking quietly for, “Two ciders, if you will,” dropping half a silver in her hands for her troubles.

Gwaine snorted. If he didn’t want to get drunk off his arse, that was his problem. 

Leon settled in next to him, all long lines and strong muscle. He commented lightly,  _ too lightly,  _ and Gwaine’s eyes narrowed, 

“Have you thought that the reason it isn’t working is because you’re using it for the wrong reasons?”

Gwaine snarled at him, teeth flashing, shoulders raising, until he was off his stool, hissing like a feral cat.

Leon raised his hands in a placating gesture, and smiled at a new maid as she set the two ciders on the counter beside him. He took one, and drained half of it in one go, pushing the other towards Gwaine. Leon took the remainder of the ale still in the tankard and emptied it onto the floor, setting the mug upside down next to him.

“Drink.” Leon ordered, and Gwaine wavered. Cider wasn’t as strong as ale, and wouldn’t get him to where he  _ needed to be, _ but still. A free drink was a free drink, and even though he had all the money he could ever need, old habits died hard.

He sat back down warily, and took a gulp. It was fruity and sweet, nothing like the rich, yeasty, almost burnt flavour of the stuff he’d been drinking, with no burn as it went down his throat. He hated it immediately. 

Alcohol wasn’t meant to be enjoyable, it was supposed to hurt as it went down and hurt as it came out, but while it was in, take your problems away for a few blessed hours. He glowered at the thin liquid.

Next to him, Leon sipped the remainder of his drink, posh and polite, a perfect knight. Everything Gwaine was not was sitting right next to him, and for a brief instant, he  _ hated  _ Leon with a burning passion. The next moment, that hatred turned on him as he realised that Leon didn’t deserve it, that it wasn’t  _ Leon’s  _ fault Gwaine was a sack of flaming shit, unworthy of his attention or his friendship. 

It was one of the greatest mysteries of Gwaine’s life, how he had managed to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes long enough to be knighted, a position he knew with absolute certainty he didn’t deserve, not like Leon, who was noble and kind and confident in his own abilities.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, and Gwaine polished off the cider, eyeing Leon’s still mostly full tankard. Just as he was considering stealing it, fruitiness be damned, Leon spoke.

“Whenever I come to these places and find you drunk out of your wits, so inebriated you can’t even stand up straight, I wonder,  _ what is he punishing himself for?”  _

Gwaine stiffened, and opened his mouth to say that was a load of crap, but Leon wasn’t done.

“Don’t tell me you drink just to enjoy yourself, because I know you don’t actually enjoy the taste.” Leon’s eyes darted towards him, daring him to disagree.

Gwaine made a valiant effort, though his mouth had gone desperately dry. “You’re full of shit, Leon.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed, but he relaxed and hummed, “I know you, Gwaine. I know your tells. Whenever you eat or drink something you don’t like, your nose wrinkles up. I know you don’t like ale, because you grimace everytime you drink it, and you down it like you can’t wait to be done with the taste.” 

The tall knight stretched long legs out, and gave Gwaine a lazy smile.

“So, this tells me you aren’t drinking for the sheer fun and enjoyment of it, like Bohrs or Kay,” Bohrs had a ranking list of the best ales in Camelot, and Kay was notorious for his carefully selected cellar of fine wines, “which means you’re drinking for some other reason.”

Gwaine whirled on Leon, and growled, “Go fuck yourself.” He got up to leave, to find another tavern, with one less tall, curly-haired knight, a place where he could drink and be numb in peace.

He stalked outside, and didn’t realise Leon had followed him until he felt a heavy, ungloved hand on his shoulder. 

He surged at the taller knight, throwing punches blindly through a haze of anger. Gwaine was unfocused, hits not landing, and Leon easily evaded them.

Leon grabbed both arms, then, and twisted them round Gwaine’s back, pinning the man to the side of the tavern, hidden in the shadows, away from prying eyes. 

Gwaine struggled in his grip, emotion swelling up and threatening to overwhelm him, desperate to escape and find a place he could fall to pieces  _ alone,  _ with no witnesses to his humiliation.

Leon, pressed tightly against his back, whispered hotly into his ears, “I’d hoped you would see reason, and that this wouldn’t become necessary.” 

He shifted in place, securing his grasp of Gwaine’s arms more tightly, and continued, “However, I see that you are unwilling to talk. So,  _ listen.”  _

Gwaine choked back a sob, barely keeping it together, alcohol swirling through his veins, making everything loose and difficult to grasp.

Leon spoke directly into his ear, scant centimeters away. “Gwaine, you are one of the finest men I’ve ever met.”

Gwaine shook his head desperately, silently begging Leon to stop before he lost control.

“You are kind, you are compassionate, and you do what is right  _ every _ time. I wish I had a fraction of your courage, of your  _ strength. _ ” Gwaine was reminded of Arthur’s words.

_ Your ability and willingness to throw yourself into harm’s way to protect what is right is no less than remarkable. Don’t doubt yourself.  _

A sob ripped its way out of his throat, and Leon paused. Gwaine stood stock still, begging the man to  _ let it go.  _

After a brief hesitation, Leon continued. “The truth of the matter is, you are incredible, Gwaine, one of the best men I’ve ever met, and I can’t for the life of me understand why you feel the need to punish yourself. I can’t understand what you feel the need to punish yourself  _ for.”  _ Leon paused, readjusting his grip, and went on, 

“Gwaine, whatever kind of absolution you’re looking for, whatever you’re trying to numb out, you’re not going to find the answer to it at the bottom of a tankard. You don’t deserve to feel all this pain, and you need to forgive yourself of whatever crime you think you’ve committed. You’re trying to dig yourself a grave without us noticing,” Leon’s voice grew intense, strong and absolute, “and I will  _ not allow it. _ ”

The dams broke. Sharp sobs tore their way out of Gwaine’s chest, and he collapsed, Leon barely managing to catch him, settling both of them down on the ground, Gwaine kneeling and Leon with his arms around the smaller man. High keens broke loose, and Gwaine shuddered in Leon’s grasp.

His chest felt like it was three sizes too small, his lungs like they couldn’t get enough air, and suddenly Gwaine was choking, breathless, unable to draw in-

“Gwaine.” Leon’s voice was commanding and low, and one Gwaine knew in his bones, had followed into battle, trusting its rich depths. “You need to calm down, you’re making yourself sick.”

Gwaine would have laughed, if he’d had the breath for it. That was kind of the whole point of drinking, wasn’t it?

Leon shifted their positions, sitting against the wall of the little alcove, and drew Gwaine up between his legs. Deep humiliation burned in Gwaine’s chest at being treated like a child, though something tucked away in his heart sung at the easy affection and tender care, something he’d tried to scratch out long ago, knowing he didn’t deserve the hope of love or kindness.

Leon pulled Gwaine further up, until his back was fully resting on Leon’s chest. The taller knight pulled off Gwaine’s mail, freeing him of the restricting weight, leaving him open and vulnerable, and so, so scared.

“Here. Breathe in with me, hold it, then out.” Leon picked one of Gwaine’s hands up, placed it over the smaller knight’s heart, and left his own hand on top, a soothing weight.

The other hand he tucked around Gwaine’s waist, as if to ensure he wouldn’t attempt to run away. 

Choking for breath, heart hammering wildly in his chest, Gwaine tried to obey, he really did, but a deep anxiety welled up within him. He had spent so long challenging any authority, anyone trying to place him within their limits, had protected himself that way in the absence of anyone who’d given a shit about him. 

What if this was the same? What if he lost every inch of the thick skin he’d so carefully coaxed over his heart, hardening it to life’s disappointments? What if this was just another trick, and he’d once again be left shattered and alone, meant to pick himself up off the ground and move on? 

He couldn’t afford to be weak now, not with Merlin resting in a bed, pale as a wraith, not with so many  _ uncertainties _ still hanging over his head.

He shook his head. It had been  _ so selfish  _ of him to come to try and numb himself out. What if Merlin had  _ needed  _ him, and he hadn’t been there? His breath, hitching before, stopped entirely as he considered the last, most horrifying option. He’d spent the entirety of his adult life and most of his younger years watching after himself. Had he forgotten how to care for others? What if Merlin  _ had died  _ without him there, without him able to apologise properly for everything?

Behind him, Leon was saying something, but Gwaine had no spare energy or breath to listen, too focused on the pain thumping a constant staccato in his heart, lungs burning and head spinning, vision spotting black.

There was suddenly a sharp, deep throb in his chest. Startled out his panic, Gwaine looked up to meet Leon’s eyes, which were shocked and afraid. He looked down to see Leon’s fist resting on his sternum. 

Gwaine took a breath, in and out. Leon blew out a breath of relief, and dipped his head down to touch Gwaine’s ear.

“I’m sorry, Gwaine. I shouldn’t have hit you, you were just  _ panicking,  _ and then you stopped breathing…” Leon trailed off, and Gwaine could hear the sorrow in his voice. The tall knight was a gentle person, chosen profession aside, and the thought of hurting one of his own must have ripped at him.

Gwaine shook his head, gasping in and out with Leon’s every breath. 

Leon’s fist flattened on his chest, curving gently around his ribs, and the man rewound a comforting arm around Gwaine’s waist, keeping him grounded.

“In for four counts. One, two, three, four. Hold it for four. One, two, three, four. Out for five, one, two, three, four, five.” Leon murmured into his ear, and Gwaine did his best to follow the count. 

Slowly, his breath started to level out, and he fell into his own breathing pattern, calmed and quiet. 

“That’s it, well done.” Leon hummed. A small wave of peace tried to sweep through Gwaine, but he didn’t allow it, squashed it down until it retreated, leaving him cold and empty again.

Well and truly exhausted, Gwaine flinched in on himself, curling up a bit. He closed his eyes and tried to not think of anything, desperate for the numbness sleep would bring in absence of his preferred agent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I didn't make the emotions in this chapter TOO exaggerated, but I felt Gwaine needed some time. I'm not done with him yet, and the next chapter may very well be a sequel of sorts to this chapter, then a continuation with the rest of the story, but he called to me, and I couldn't look away. I do not pretend to be a medical professional, so never take my words here as replacing one, because I don't have that qualification. Still, I know well enough about bad coping mechanisms, and I figured Leon would probably recognise them better than anyone. He's a Mother Duck and he's got a kind nature about him, plus he's tasked with leading all of them-it seems highly suspect to me that he wouldn't once in a while have a chat with Gaius or someone else about how best to manage their traumas, because there is no way one of his knights hasn't broken down on him before. Add onto that all the guilt Leon still holds about Merlin (and Gwaine by extension), and I think I might be playing on something here, I'm not exactly sure...
> 
> Hopefully, you understand what I'm getting at, and hopefully I didn't push this too far. Gwaine deserved a moment of support that wasn't in front of everyone else. Getting affirmation of your strengths in public can be an exhilarating experience, or it can be embarrassing, almost a heady reminder of what your strengths aren't. Gwaine has a lot of stuff to deal with, as I'll probably hint in this fic, and I'm trying to write something to deal with that in a little document I'm playing around with. The world is scary at the moment, and although I hadn't originally planned for him to break down so completely (although someone coming to find him in the tavern was an early idea I had), the world seems so lonely at the moment, and I couldn't bear to let him suffer without support. I played around with the idea of Percy coming to find him, but I didn't want their relationship to be so....boxed-in. I wanted him to know there were others who cared about him. I realise this fic is primarily about Merlin and Arthur, but I have never liked not knowing how a situation affects others surrounding them, and I have the luxury of being able to write what I want. With a bit of luck, it came across the way I wanted it to. If it didn't, well, my sincere apologies, and the hopes that future chapters will be better. Still, I liked it when I read it, and imagining my boy in this situation made my heart pang, so maybe it will work for you, too. 
> 
> In my fics, you may read the characters dismissing help as something for a child, or something not manly, or any number of things. These are views they have, but ones I do not and never will endorse. Mental health, for all we like to crack fun, is just as important as physical health, and it should be treated with the same respect. If you break your leg, you aren't planning on walking on it until it heals, are you? That would be ridiculous. If you are depressed or in need of mental support, why shouldn't you seek help? There is no difference between the two, and it seems so odd to me that we've internalised this narrative of mental health being weakness. I suppose I'm somewhat of a hypocrite, as I certainly could do more reaching out, but take me as an example of what NOT to do, because life is much more painful when you deny yourself support. 
> 
> It might feel like the right decision at the time, believe me, I get it, but it isn't. You deserve hope, and you deserve happiness, and I wish I could be there to support you, and I am, but reach out to those around you. If there isn't anyone you trust, find a group or community. There are often free or low-cost group therapy sessions, though this may depend upon country or state. Barring that, find people like you. There are so many online communities who would love to welcome you. Pain is something we are all familiar with. For some people, it is a comfort to have, because it's something that can't be taken away from you. I get it, there's safety in what you know, but there's also a better life you can have. Anyway, I'm sure you've had enough of my lecturing (for all I portray Leon as a Mother Duck, I'm no better), so remember to take care of yourself. You deserve happiness. Buy yourself that coffee abomination from Starbucks (I do not understand the appeal, but enjoy yourself!), take a hot shower and listen to your favourite tunes, go take a walk in the sunshine, just remember your worth and your value. You are a precious, gleaming stone set in the crown of life. Treat yourself like it. Cheers, and please take care of yourselves. I wish you all nothing but the absolute best. <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er, if blood and gore upsets you, the first half of the chapter is not for you. It's not super terrible, but it's graphic enough. I so hope you are all doing well! I'm not...terrifically pleased with how this turned out, but considering how long it's been, and how late it is and how tired I am, it'll do. I'll probably make a pass through and edit out errors once I've gotten some rest. Be safe and well! 
> 
> Update: Hello, I've gotten four hours of sleep, and am rereading this. It's not my best work, and the bottom notes are....odd, to say the least, but I'm editing the work a bit here and there to make it nicer to read. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint!

Merlin whimpered quietly, unbound hand twitching at his side. His head tossed on the thin pillow, but he did not awake. 

Arthur leaned in, shushing him gently. “Shh, it’s ok.” 

He pulled off the warming cloth on Merlin’s forehead, dipping it in a bowl filled to the brim with cool water, chunks of precious ice melting slowly in it. He wrung it out just enough so it wasn’t sopping, then swept back his servant’s hair with one hand, noting with a frown how hot his face was, and placed the folded cloth back on Merlin’s brow and over his eyes. There was seemingly instantaneous relief, and Merlin settled down again, body relaxing into the dark depths of unconsciousness.

“How is the fever?” Arthur startled, drawing his hand back quickly from where it rested on Merlin’s cheek. 

Gaius swept past where the king was perched on a tiny stool pulled up to the servant’s bedside, and took Merlin’s wrist in hand, counting the beats absently, nodding his head and releasing the wrist when whatever he found met his standards. 

Arthur sighed, closing his eyes and running trembling hands over them. “It’s gone back up, but the cool water is helping, I think.” 

Gaius hummed, straightening up and patting Arthur on the shoulder. “Fevers tend to rise at night, and I don’t believe this is any more than one brought one from exhaustion.” 

The king nodded, and reached out to replace the cloth on Merlin’s head once again. He hissed as the motion agitated the red, sore flesh on his hands, and bit back a cry as a cut on his right reopened and bled sluggishly. 

Gaius whirled on him, eyes narrowed, and Arthur strangled a groan. He’d done well, hiding his damaged hands for the two days they’d been back, but now Gaius was onto him like a bloodhound on a scent.

“What are those?” The physician’s voice was light, but Arthur could hear the undercurrent of steel lacing his words.

He fought back the instinct to hide them and run away, reminding himself he was the King of Camelot, and did not _run away from old men._

“It’s nothing, Gaius.” 

The physician snorted, a sound Arthur was fairly sure he’d only heard the man make when Merlin did something _particularly_ foolish.

“Your Majesty, I have treated everyone, from paupers to princes, in my years as a physician.” Gaius’s eyes narrowed, and Arthur felt pinned in place, uncomfortable like a boy being scolded, 

“ _None,_ be they knight or nobleman, has _ever_ escaped my grasp. _Show me your hands.”_

Arthur sighed, and offered weakly, “Gaius, really, they’re not that bad- _Hey!”_

Gaius had summarily ignored his protests and grabbed a hand. The physician hissed loudly as he saw the redness, the bleeding, and felt the heat radiating from the infected skin.

“Arthur,” Gaius’s voice was serious, his eyes steady and intent, and Arthur stifled a groan. “This is very bad.”

  
  


Arthur went to stand up, to escape the chambers, to _get away,_ but the physician squeezed. Hard. Arthur’s knees dropped out from under him at the searing pain, and he landed with a hard thud on the stool, vision spotting at the sides.

He gasped for breath, and fought against a sudden urge to vomit, chest seizing up and throat clenching wildly.

  
  


Percival, fast asleep in the corner, head tilted at an awkward angle as he sat on a bench much too small for him, propped against a corner wall, startled awake at the noise.

“Wha- _Arthur!_ Within a moment, the large knight was at Arthur’s side, looking around for what had caused the king such pain. 

Arthur waved him, off, swallowing hard to repress the nausea. The hand within Gaius’s grasp burned as if he’d stuck it into _fire._

  
  


“I’m-I’m fine.” He managed through a dry mouth.

Gaius blew out an exasperated breath. “You most certainly are not!”

He waved around the hand within his rough grip, and said sharply to Percival, 

“He’s gone and _destroyed_ his hands, and he hasn’t had the sense to so much as wrap them!” Arthur went to protest, but, seeing the real fear in Gaius’s eyes and the soft concern in Percival’s hulking frame, he went sulkily silent.

  
  


“Seeing as _His Majesty_ cannot be trusted to care for these on his own, you, my dear boy,” Percival’s face went amusingly baffled at being called _boy,_ “are going to help me clean them and bandage them.”

“Gaius, sir,” Percival stammered, off-balance, “I have no real experience with the healing arts.”

He stared mournfully at his massive hands.

“I have a tendency to break things more than I fix them.”

Arthur’s heart pinged. The man was so big, yet he looked nothing more than like a little puppy, eyes huge and wet.

Gaius’s eyes went soft, and he shook his head. “Nonsense, my boy, you did a fine job with Merlin’s shoulder.”

Without giving the knight a chance to refuse or back out, the physician clamped two strong hands around one of Percival’s massive biceps, and tugged him in the general direction of the medical supplies.

Arthur shifted on his stool, and Gaius without missing a beat warned, 

“If you’ve moved so much as a handsbreath before I get a chance to take a good look at you, you’ll be spending the next three days in a cot next to Merlin.”

Well, fine, it wasn’t like he was the king or anything, or had any _kingly duties_ to perform. 

Arthur pouted, and turned his eyes towards Merlin, who had remained blessedly unconscious for the entire conversation. His chest rose and fell evenly, and Arthur checked his forehead with the back of one of his destroyed hands. It seemed cooler to him, though the final determination lay in Gaius’s estimation.

“All right then.” Gaius had appeared next to him, and held out an imperious hand.

Arthur accepted it, and the healer all but dragged him to where Percival was hovering around a table covered in herbs, bandages, and….Arthur dug his heels in. There were _very_ sharp and _very_ pointed instruments there.

Suddenly cautious of Gaius’s _help,_ Arthur asked warily, “Gaius, what are those for?”

The physician wagged a scolding finger between his eyes. “You are going to sit down, and you are _not_ going to cause me any trouble, because my priority has to be _Merlin,_ which it can’t be unless you cooperate _.”_

Arthur’s heart sunk like a stone, and he fought the hot flood of tears that sprang to his eyes, cursing himself. Once again, he’d put Merlin at risk.

Instead of arguing, as Gaius had no doubt expected him to do, the king sat down quietly at the table, head down, staring intently at the grain of the wood. He offered one hand back to the physician, and said softly,

“Do what you have to, but no more. If this takes too much of your time away from him, Gaius…” Arthur let the sentence trail off, and Gaius sighed. 

He took Arthur’s chin in his hand and raised the man’s head to meet his eyes. Gaius was unhappy though not entirely surprised to see a pink flush high across the king’s cheeks, and a brightness in his eyes that was not entirely from emotion.

“Arthur.” The man refused to look him dead on, and worried his lip between his teeth. 

“ _Arthur.”_ Gaius commanded, and now Arthur did look at him. 

“Taking care of you,” the physician said, watching deep emotion play across the king’s face, “Is never a burden.”

Gaius sighed and reached for a bowl filled with heated water, and a clean strip of cloth. “I only worry that I may be too late to be of much help, and that concerns me.”

Arthur ducked his head and Gaius picked up one hand, biting back a gasp at how red and swollen it was. 

“Arthur, it is my great honour and privilege to care for you, but sometimes I wish you would take care of yourself as well as you care for others.” Gaius dipped the strip of cloth in water and rubbed it gently across the tortured flesh, hissing as scabs broke and thick rivulets of yellow pus broke free.

Arthur laughed once, but there was no humour in it. “Yes, I _took care_ of Merlin very well, didn’t I?”

Gaius opened his mouth to reply but Percival beat him to the punch.

“Sire…. _Arthur_.” The large man’s voice was deep and thoughtful, and he picked up the other hand to follow Gaius’s example. “You made a mistake.”

Arthur snorted. “Yes, a _mistake_ that nearly cost Merlin his life!”

Percival hummed, brow creasing at the increasing stink of infection as more rotting flesh was pulled off even by the gentle caress of the cloth. 

“Yes, and then you made it right.” He released Arthur’s hand, dumped the bowl of water out in a bucket, then refilled it with the cauldron of water sitting above the fire. Percival returned with the fresh bowl, and dipped a new cloth in. He started cleaning again, and said quietly,

“Mistakes are like that, I think. Sometimes they are small, sometimes they are large. Sometimes they spin wildly out of control, and you’re left to pick up the broken pieces.”

Gaius looked up, then, and said to Arthur, an eyebrow raised, “I wasn’t aware, milord, that you had a philosopher knight.”

Percival’s cheeks pinked, and he ducked his bashfully as Arthur laughed, a real one, though roughed with pain around the edges. 

“Neither was I, Gaius.” He looked at Percival, then, and asked softly, “How did you become such a wise one, then?”

Percival shook his head. “I only know about mistakes, sire.” His face went blank for a moment, eyes looking into the distance. His whole body shuddered for an instant, and Arthur shook the hand still within his grasp.

“Perc?” He called to the large knight.

The spell was broken, and emotion flooded back into Percival’s face, though he seemed paler. He smiled, but it was broken a bit, and apologised,

“Sorry, I...Got caught in the past.” He bent his head and shoulders down to focus on Arthur’s hand, digging in a little too deeply with the cloth, and the king couldn’t help but groan just a little.

The cleaning process was excruciating, every swipe of the cloth like shark skin running across exposed nerves and tissue, the thin fibers feeling like needles sawing into open flesh. Nausea swelled up once again at a particularly hard pass of the cloth on Gaius’s side, and Arthur managed to gasp out,

“W- _Wait.”_ Both men hovering around him paused in their cleaning, and Arthur lunged for an open bowl, retching violently into it. He hadn’t eaten anything in the days since he’d returned to Camelot, too ill at heart and nauseated to stomach anything, so all that came up was yellow bile, and it burned his throat as it came up. Percival stood beside him, hands out at his side uselessly, and Gaius fetched a cup of water, laying a comforting hand on Arthur’s back.

“Here, drink this. It will help with the taste.” 

Arthur swished some around his mouth, and spat it out, trying to rid himself of the sour aftertaste in his mouth.

He didn’t dare swallow more than a mouthful of two of water, too afraid of being sick again, and ignored Gaius’s pursed lips of disapproval as he handed it back still mostly full.

Arthur put the bowl down, and went back to the bench he’d been sat at, taking a deep breath and offering them out again.

Gaius walked up to the table, but he didn’t pick up the offered limb and begin cleaning again. The physician hesitated.

“Arthur, some of these deep cuts…” He paused, and took the king’s hand, pointing out the areas he meant. “There is infection deep within them, most likely foreign irritants stuck deep within the trapped flesh.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped. He did _not_ like where this was headed.

Gaius went on, but clasped a hand around Arthur’s wrist, as though he was afraid the man would run away. 

“These areas need to be lanced, so the infection may drain. Even still,” and here the older man’s face went pale and drawn, “I cannot guarantee that you will be able to maintain full functionality of them.”

He searched Arthur’s face, for what, the king didn’t know. Terror? Shock? Horror? He felt none of those things. 

Instead, a deep calm swept over Arthur. He had been unable to pay for his gross lapses in judgement that had nearly cost his servant, his _friend,_ his life. A small, traitorous voice in the back of his head whispered _but he’s more than that, isn’t he?_ Arthur ignored it and focused on his sudden and newfound ability to prove he _cared,_ that his mistakes would be _paid for,_ proof literally in his hands. 

He fought back a sick kind of smile, knowing both Percival and Gaius were peering at his face. Arthur wordlessly held out his hands, and Gaius picked up a sharpened piece of metal which the king didn’t feel the need to examine too closely.

“This is going to hurt.” Gaius warned. “Percival?”

The large man placed both large hands on Arthur’s shoulders, essentially pinning him in place. 

Arthur nodded at Gaius, and the physician leaned in, pressing the sharp blade to tortured skin. It split easily, lines of red giving way to a burst of pus and infection. The metal was so sharp that at first Arthur didn’t feel anything. As Gaius pressed down with a cleaned, boiled cloth, though, searing pain set in, and the king sucked in a breath, arm trembling with the effort of remaining still. 

His face must have been quite a sight, because Percival behind him shifted nervously and stammered out, “Gaius...Is-Is it _supposed_ to look like that?”

Gaius didn’t answer, just pushed down harder. Arthur fought with tensed muscles to keep himself in place, but finally it was too much and he shot back, scrabbling to get off the bench. 

Percival caught him and wound a massive, strong arm around him, keeping him in place, other arm clenched tightly around the king’s forearm.

“Sorry, sire, but if you want any chance of keeping these hands-or your life-this _must_ be done right now.” Gaius murmured, eyes on the steady stream of pus and stinking infection. 

Arthur just groaned, and clenched his teeth so tightly he thought they might crack. There was shuffling behind him, then a leather belt appeared before his face.

“Here, bite down on this.” Percival said quietly. Arthur took it with a gasped thanks, and bit down hard, closing his eyes. All he knew was _pain._

Finally, after a tense few minutes, all that ran from the deepest cuts on Arthur’s left hand was blood, red and clear, no sign of the infection. Gaius slathered black tea-boiled lengths of cloth with honey, and a few precious drops of thyme oil.

Picking up the cleaned hand, the physician started the process of wrapping it tightly, in between every finger, around every cut. Arthur hissed as the hot cloth touched open, raw flesh, nerves sizzling. 

Gaius worked quickly and efficiently, and for a few more moments, it was silent in the room, save for the rustling of cloth, and Merlin’s steady breaths. 

At long last, it was finished. Gaius let go, and Arthur drew his hand back to his chest protectively. His sides heaved as if he’d run a thousand paces in full armour, and sweat poured off his brow. 

“We shall take a break, I think,” Gaius was saying to Arthur, who barely had the presence of mind to listen, preoccupied with the intense heat burning beneath the bandages, “While I prepare the materials for the next. This must be done well, or I fear the loss of either full mobility or the hand itself.”

He didn’t mention that if the infection was uncontrolled, it could take over Arthur’s body and kill him easily. Sepsis was no light matter. 

Arthur nodded, face drawn and tight with pain. Brushing off Percival’s hands, he stood and went to Merlin’s bedside.

“Don’t touch anything!” Gaius warned hastily. “If you do, the cleaning process will have to begin again.”

Arthur withdrew his unbandaged hand rapidly, and carefully settled himself on the small stool, staring intently at Merlin’s tensed face. He heard Gaius and Percival talking quietly behind him, but he tuned them out, narrowing his world to just…. _Merlin._

For all their marvelous misadventures and exploits, Arthur had never really gotten a chance to just sit and watch Merlin at rest.

His hair, even dampened and slick with sweat as it was, was black as a raven’s wing, and looked soft to the touch. The warlock’s skin was pale, near-white, and Arthur could see individual veins, blue-green, tracing through the tender skin around the man’s eyelids. 

Arthur wondered suddenly what it would be like to lean forward and press a kiss, gently, ever-so-gently, onto the chapped lips, pink and full. He found himself leaning forward unconsciously, and thus was completely unprepared when Merlin’s eyes flew open and he shot upright in his small bed.

Arthur startled backwards, off his stool and onto the floor beside the bed, heart thumping wildly in his ears. 

Gaius looked up, saw the commotion, and rushed over, Percival hot on his heels. 

“Merlin! Lie back down this instant!” The physician commanded, worry creasing his face, a fierce look about him.

Merlin just…. _looked_ at him, and said in a very thin and small voice, eyes narrowing and head tilting, “Gaius? Is that you?” 

Big eyes filled with tears and wonder as Merlin finally took in the sight of his guardian and mentor, the blue shining even more starkly when glittering with water. 

Gaius softened, and drew his ward into a deep hug, clucking at him, fussing at his clothes and hair. 

“I’m here, Merlin. You’re safe.” He whispered, running careful fingers through sweat-damp black hair. 

Merlin shook hard for an instant in his grasp, and choked out, “Arthur _knows,_ Gaius, I’m-I’m _so sorry.”_

He fought to keep his eyes open, a flush building higher on his face, and whispered into Gaius's ear, "I'm so glad I got to see you, Gaius. I couldn't-couldn't have died without saying goodbye."

Merlin babbled as Gaius listened, increasingly horrified, "He told me you'd be fine, Gaius, you're fine. You have to be fine, because everything would be _wrong_ if you weren't." 

Tears pooled at the sides of his nose, then dripped down onto the mattress. "Gaius, are you fine? He _promised_ you'd be fine."

Gaius stilled in his rocking of the young man, and looked to Arthur furiously. “ _What_ have you told him, Arthur?”

Arthur looked at him a bit helplessly, and dropped his gaze.

Merlin whimpered a bit desperately, head too painful and thick to deal with the twisted knots of emotion curling in his stomach. Gaius shushed him, and stroked back dark hair, frowning at the heat that met his fingertips.

“You’re safe, Merlin. _We’re_ safe, I _promise.”_

Merlin relaxed a little into his hold, though some tension still remained. He hummed, eyes slipping closed, “That’s good, Gaius.”

He drooped, slumping forward into Gaius’s hold, and Percival came forward to support his back as they laid him back down.

Merlin giggled, a bit loopy, and said in a wondering tone, as if amazed by his own power, “I think…... _I think I exploded a tree._ It went _kaboom!”_

Percival stifled a snort and reached for a cool cloth, wiping the worst of the sweat off Merlin’s forehead.

Gaius smiled fondly at his ward, and clasped Merlin’s free hand in his own, stroking the soft skin around his knuckles. “You’ve had quite the adventure, haven’t you?”

Merlin nodded, open eyes rolling around in his face as his head spun with the movement. He cackled. “I _exploded a tree!”_

Percival couldn’t hold it in this time, and guffawed quite merrily at the open glee on Merlin’s face. “Aye, that you did.”

Merlin struggled upright once again, for the first time noticing Percival. “Percy, _mate!_ I _made a tree go kaboom!”_

The large bear of a man grinned outright at him. “I know, Merlin.”

Merlin frowned, then, as a thought overtook him, head wobbling. “Percival, are _you_ part-tree?”

Percival shook his head, chuckling turning to chortling.

Merlin looked up at him, marveling, “But you’re _so big!”_

He wagged a finger in Percival’s face, looking terribly pleased with his newfound understanding.

“I know,” He said cheerily, “You’re part _bear!”_

Percival couldn’t contain his laughter this time, and bent over double, wheezing out gasping breaths until he had to sit down, giggling madly at the thought, face red and a bit breathless.

Arthur, who had watched the entire exchange with no small amount of amusement and a tinge of bitterness towards himself, replaced Percival next to Merlin as the mountain of a man collapsed on a bench.

“Now, _Mer_ lin,” Something in him _ached_ for the use of that familiar inflection, “It’s not nice to tease. I don’t think your mother would be pleased.”

Merlin scowled at him, expression turning from sunny and open to dark and gloomy. “Wasn’-Wasn’t teasing.”

His eyes opened up, conveying his astonishment (and, Arthur reflected, just how much poppy milk Gaius had given him) as he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially to Arthur. 

“Percy’s _huuuuuuuuge.”_

Arthur smiled softly at him, and reached out to brush ever-messy hair back with his unbandaged hand, which had landed squarely on the floor when he’d fallen onto his arse. 

It had to be cleaned anyway, and there was a decent chance he’d still lose it, so at the very least, the last pleasant thing he’d feel with it was the chance to touch Merlin, pretend for an instant he hadn’t lost what had become the most precious and everlasting, steady relationship he’d ever had. 

  
  


Before his hand could reach Merlin’s hair, though, the warlock dodged it, grabbing it with his own. This caused him to overbalance, though, forcing Gaius to clutch both arms around the man’s waist.

Arthur winced a little. Merlin had taken hold of it _tight,_ and his bony fingers were digging into some very deep and very painful cuts where sensitive muscle was exposed to the open air. Still, no amount of pain could compare to what he’d put Merlin through, so he kept silent through the burning.

Merlin frowned up at him, big eyes sparkling and a little lost. “Arthur….What happened to your hands?” 

His eyes locked onto Arthur’s other, bandaged and smelling like an herb garden.

The king hedged, “Just a bit of an accident, it’s really no concern, Merlin, just lie back down.”

Merlin gave him a disapproving look. He leaned forward into Arthur’s breathing space, and the king felt his heart stop for a beat. The warlock bumped the king’s head with his own, and their eyes met. 

For an instant, Arthur forgot all words, caught up in the simple but rare pleasure of contact with someone he trusted absolutely.

Then Merlin leaned back, completely and blithely unaware of the three pairs of eyes focused on him, and said seriously, “Arthur…. _Arthur…._ **_Arthur._ **You can’t be hurt.”

He groaned, and tipped his head back until he was looking at the ceiling. “Do you _know_ how hard it is to stop things trying to _eat you?”_

Merlin dropped his head down to his chest, then seemed to figure out how to level it again, staring balefully at the king. He released Arthur’s hand, and pointed at him, finger going slightly off-course, eyes crossing as he tried to pin Arthur with a _look_.

“You’re-You’re _not allowed_ to get hurt when I’m around.” He stopped for a moment, and considered something in his head. Tears pooled in his eyes once again, and he closed them, shuddered. 

“But- _I hurt you._ That’s-That’s…. _That’s not allowed.”_ A few stray tears slipped down his face, and Merlin sniffled, breaking eye contact, a fevered flush covering his cheeks as the emotional upset broke him down even further. “I’m not supposed to be the one _hurting_ you-It’s _my job_ to _protect you from harm.”_

He sighed mournfully, tears chasing each other down his cheeks, and it was such a _shattered_ sound that Arthur _had_ to do something.

He reached out, and tipped Merlin’s head up, forcing him to meet eyes, bright blue against endless depths. “ _Mer_ lin, we protect _each other,_ remember?”

Merlin shook his head, even within Arthur’s grasp, and a choked sob made its way out. 

Arthur’s heart splintered, a deep longing and ache settling around his gut. He forced out a watery smile, laughing through the sudden veil of tears that had sprung from nowhere.

“Besides, I was being a prat.” He watched Merlin’s face, and was relieved to see a smile break free, spreading across the warlock’s face.

“And a royal one.” Merlin finished, and Arthur’s heart leapt for joy. Merlin’s eyes locked onto him, intent and soft. He took his free hand and grasped Arthur’s.

“You’re hurt.” He said softly, tracing the cuts and abrasions.

Arthur shrugged lightly, unconcerned. “I deserved it.” 

He felt a deep shame curl around his insides, but knew it was the truth.

Merlin frowned at him. “Arthur Pendragon, you are a right git most of the time.”

Gaius beside him raised an eyebrow, and Percival coughed from his perch on the bench. Arthur's cheeks went hot.

Merlin continued, oblivious. “ _But,_ you are the finest man I know,” 

Arthur’s throat felt thick as Merlin finished with such conviction and certainty that it made Arthur's heart ache and sing at the same time, “and you will be the greatest king Camelot has _ever_ known.”

Arthur whispered around a knot in his throat, shaking his head. “You don’t know that. I don’t deserve your faith.”

Merlin smiled at him, eyes shining, adoration coming cleanly through, “You do.”

Blue eyes flashed gold, and Arthur felt a deep tingling wash over him. It was pleasant, really, a warm wave he could only compare to the feeling he had when Merlin called him a ‘clotpole.’ It was soft, and it was warm, and it was friendly and it was unmistakably _Merlin._

All too soon, it was over, and Gaius pulled Merlin away from any contact with Arthur, scolding him with a real tinge of fear in his tone. “Merlin!”

Merlin managed a weak but beaming smile at Arthur, loose and relaxed, before going limp in Gaius’s grasp, eyes sliding shut and breaths becoming shallower and slower. 

Percival was at Arthur’s side in an instant, gently pushing him out of the way where he stood, frozen, horrified, staring at his hands.

The unbandaged one had pristine skin, not so much as a single scar or blemish, skin smooth and soft as if he’d never worked a day in his life. Suddenly sick to his stomach, Arthur ripped off the bandages on the other one, tearing it off with his teeth, desperate to see, horror curling deep in his gut, tangling and contorting around his throat. 

Underneath the mess of the oils and the honey, that hand, too, looked as if the skin had been made new and fresh, not so much as a single callus.

He stumbled over to the wall, out of the way, and slid down, not so much sitting as collapsing, tucking his head between his knees, hands stretched out, dripping honey. Sobs tore loose from his frame, and he shook with the intensity of them, body trembling violently from shock and the realisation that he was a monster, only good for causing Merlin harm and pain.

Once again, he’d proven why he was unworthy of his friend’s affection and care. 

  
  


As Percival and Gaius worked on Merlin, tipping precious sugared water down his throat and calling his name, Arthur curled up further against the wall, sick with guilt and shame.

Never before had he been so sure that he was his father’s son.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my lovelies. My sincerest apologies are extended for how long it took me to update. So much has happened within the last couple of weeks, and I've struggled with a lot of it, probably because I'm helpless to change most of it. That sounds terribly dour, and I'm fortunate in that we are all healthy, just...a lot is changing right now, as it is for billions of people, and some of that change is quite scary. I couldn't bring myself to write for a while, and if I had, it wouldn't have been very good. I'm not convinced I'm all that happy with this chapter, but...I like it well enough, and I believe the next chapter will deal with Percival or Elyan, then circle back round to Merlin or Gwaine. We'll get to all of them eventually. 
> 
> I cannot express my gratitude enough to all of you. You offer words of kindness and appreciation for something I love to do, and it's one of the most precious and valued...institutions, for lack of a better word, in my life. I reread every comment probably hundreds of times, and they give me courage and remind me of what I love about this world.
> 
> I don't know what the future holds. Change has been thrust upon us (well, we probably should have seen it coming.....but, well, hindsight is 2020-bad joke, I know), and we will be expected to deal with it. This is going to be a ramble, so feel free to skip it, but I feel like we've established this is what I do :D
> 
> I've never been afraid of the dark, per se. I have an irrational fear of human bodies (even after dealing with my father's death in hospital, and touching his body), so that's always been a particular terror of mine, that bodies will be in my room as I try to sleep, or that a hand will grab my ankle as it pokes out of the coverlets. Darkness is comforting, sometimes. It's cool and calm, and I enjoy it. It's all the little things that could happen, I suppose, that terrifies me. I'm sure I'm not making myself very clear, as it's quite early and I still haven't slept, but.....People talk a lot about finding a light in the darkness.
> 
> I don't mind the dark. It can be beautiful, and sometimes only in the dark do the most beautiful things shine so brightly. Hope can exist in total darkness, and stars glimmer in the sky.
> 
> My point, I guess, and my apologies for not conveying this at all rationally, is that being stuck at home forces you to confront everything you don't realise you are running away from. You're stuck in a house (or in a flat/apartment), and there's nothing to distract you from your mind. This, I realise, reading over, makes it sound like I had a breakdown, and I did not.
> 
> A lot of change is happening in my life and in the world, and, like many people, I am struggling with it. As I went off to university/college, I redefined my life and who I was, in a way I never got the chance to at home, where I act as therapist, friend, and support system to everyone else. Boundaries in my household, I should say, were never clear. I miss my independence, and I miss my freedom. I fell into many of the same habits at school (though, thankfully, with much much better boundaries), but I helped people because that was my choice, not because I was expected to. I miss that connection, that spark of shared understanding.
> 
> I used to watch the old American TV show 'The A Team,' (to probably no one's great surprise, my absolute favourite was Murdock), and they called it something like 'Hannibal's on the jazz.' That tiny bright light of mischief and ingenuity is one of my favourite things in life, and I miss sharing my craziness with people. That's probably one of the many reasons this writing process has been so rewarding.
> 
> Ok, I have been rambling on about very little for a very long time now. I am going to get some sleep like a responsible adult, and I wish you all the absolute best. You are little stars, each and every one of you. In the darkness of our times, you will shine all the brighter. Be well and I cannot wait to see you gleam on the future world stage. <3


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have looked over my previous chapter. I would like to offer my sincere apologies. It is certainly not up to my usual quality (or, rather, what I feel my usual quality should be). Perhaps one day, I will go over it and make it less rough and more detailed, but for right now, it is what it is. I liked the bare bones of it, but I wasn't terribly enthused with what might have been slight over dramatics, and a lack of detail and worldbuilding. Nonetheless, if you were disappointed with the Merlin/Arthur reaction, and were hoping for more terror and less drugged up Merlin, please don't worry. I didn't plan for that chapter to be the real confrontation anyway, so we should be good. I so appreciate all of your kindnesses, and I have gotten sleep! I read over the notes I wrote, and my own nose wrinkled in concern for me, so I can't imagine what it must have sounded like to 'strangers' (you're not strangers, of course, but I think you get what I mean), so please don't worry if you did. If you didn't, great!

Elyan wasn’t a fool, he knew what happened to sorcerers and those who associated with them in this kingdom. He’d been born and raised in Camelot, and knew all too well the stench of rising ashes from a _witch_ burning in the courtyards of the city, how they settled thick and sweet in the back of your throat. 

His father had died for the sins of a sorcerer, and Elyan couldn’t help but wonder if Merlin had satisfaction in his eyes as he watched the man, innocent of magic, burn like so many of the warlock’s _brethren_ had. If the _pleasure_ of seeing innocents die mirrored Uther’s gratification of setting sorcerers aflame. 

Unease roiled in his gut as he tried to match Uther’s expressions: cold, calculating, nearly frenzied pleasure as he heard the screams of the burned and bound, to Merlin’s face, open and kind and sweet.

Despite his best efforts, the two images refused to combine, leaving him only with cold fury and bitter terror clutching his chest. 

Elyan rounded the corner, nearly crashing into his sister as she walked along with a lady of the court. With Elyan’s appointment to knighthood, Guinevere was no longer a serving girl, but of noble status, and he couldn’t help but glance at her new gown appreciatively, grateful that she no longer had to be outfitted in what amounted to peasant clothing.

“Elyan!” He heard her gasp, but he had no time. Panic was clawing up his throat, and he rudely pushed past them, stumbling for the corridor leading to his chambers.

His squire, a slight boy called Ainsley, was waiting for him outside the door. Someone must have seen Elyan’s flight through the castle and let the squire know. Part of his responsibilities was to care for the armour knights wore after a patrol or mission.

“Sir Elyan.” The boy bowed, thick black hair bouncing as he dipped. 

Elyan couldn’t spare the time for even a nod, pushing him harshly out of the way. 

Ainsley landed on the floor, hard, and let out a quiet, “Ow.”

The squire’s eyes drooped, and his face pinched sadly as he struggled off the floor, confused and hurt. 

Elyan finally managed to get his shaking hand around the cool metal key he kept in his pocket, and guided it carefully into the lock, heart hammering in his ears. 

After a couple of missed tries, he felt a pair of small hands helping him slot the key in. He looked down wildly to find two green eyes staring back at him. 

He heard Gwen hurrying through the corridor, dress swishing as she called sharply, “Elyan! What on _Earth_ is going on?”

He didn’t have time for her, and the lock finally, _finally_ opened. He shoved past his squire once again, this time the boy moving quickly out of his way, and slammed the door behind him.

Elyan slid the bolt home, and he started stripping off his mail, hands unsteady and trembling. 

Behind him, he heard the door unlock, and Elyan nearly groaned as he recalled he’d left the key in Ainsley’s hands.

As he finally wrestled the mail over his head, dumping it on the floor (his father would have scolded him severely for that), Gwen stepped into the room, eyes burning bright with uncharacteristic fury.

Behind her, Ainsley murmured a soft apology to his knight, face pale and thin shoulders dipped in abject misery. He closed the door behind Gwen, stepping back out into the corridor to await further instruction.

No doubt he was expecting some further abuse, Elyan thought with a sinking of his stomach. He was well aware of the way the boy’s previous knight, Sir Brinley, had treated him, and had been making a point of gentleness and kindness in training the young squire. 

This would set him back _months,_ if not totally destroying the careful relationship he’d built, Elyan was aware, and guilt twisted around his heart, digging in with claws next to the panic rising in his gut. 

“ _What. Was. That?”_ Gwen hissed acidly, crossing over to help him take off the scattered pieces of armour still on. She picked up the mail off the floor and folded it, placing it on a chair. 

Elyan shook his head rapidly, breath coming in puffs as he tore at the padded shirt underneath the mail. 

Gwen placed a cool hand over his own, and turned him around gently to face her. Her face, sweet and open, looked into his, and not for the first time Elyan was grateful he’d come back to see his sister grown into a fine and astonishing woman. 

“Elyan,” Her voice was soft and caring, soothing some of the confusion swirling through his head, making everything blurry, 

“What’s happened?”

Finally getting the gambeson off, Elyan wiped his face with it, and stood trembling in the middle of his chambers.

Gwen, seeing she would get no response from him, led him to his bed, sitting him down on the edge. She reached into her gown, drawing out a small glass vial, and dropped a few beads of it into the water. The sharp scent of peppermint reached Elyan, and his shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. 

  
Gwen stirred the water with a couple slender fingers, then withdrew her hand and picked up a fine linen cloth. Dipping it in the water, she saturated it entirely, then wrung it out just enough so water wasn’t streaming from the cloth. 

That done, she folded it and went back to Elyan, who was hunched over miserably on his bed. 

Gwen seated herself next to him, arranging her skirts comfortably, and wiped his face down properly, as she had hundreds of times when they were children after a long day helping at their father’s forge. 

Even as the water dried on his skin, the peppermint kicked in, cooling Elyan down and calming his shattered nerves in the process. 

Gwen hummed a simple tune, one with just a few notes, not even a song, really, and draped the washing cloth over the back of her brother’s neck.

Elyan sighed, tension finally leaving his tight shoulders.

“That’s better.” Gwen said firmly but kindly, and picked up his hands in her own, warming them up, fingertips gone cold with terror while his body burned with the horror coursing through his veins.

“Now,” She was saying, and Elyan tuned back in, “What’s happened? Is everyone alright?”

Her eyes, a lovely shade of russet brown, were creased and shadowed with concern. She knew as well as any of the dangerous life the knights led. 

Elyan nodded, then hastened to add on, because Gwen looked unbearably sad, as if she thought she’d be mourning someone that day,

“Everyone is….fine.” 

Gwen noticed the hesitation, though, and pressed, “Elyan, you’re scaring me. That doesn’t _sound_ like everyone is safe. What’s happened?”

He insisted, “Gwen, I _promise_ everyone is safe.” 

Gwen sighed, then, relieved, and asked with an edge to her voice, “Then what were you _thinking,_ speaking to your squire in such a cold manner!”

Elyan dipped his head, guilt reigniting, and she continued on, twisting the knife even further, “Honestly, Elyan, I hadn’t believed you capable of such cruelty, especially to someone who’s done nothing but serve you with honour and respect.”

He couldn’t face her eyes, because he knew of the disappointment he’d find there, so reminiscent of the day he’d left her behind, small and sad and so very young.

Gwen shifted so she was sitting closer to him, an arm draped around his back, thighs pressed together. She’d grown up so much since they’d last sat together like this, Elyan mused bitterly. He’d made so many mistakes, hurt her so badly, and yet she still was so good to him.

“I know.” He finally responded, and Gwen pursed her lips, dissatisfied with the answer.

“Elyan, I love you dearly, and whatever is wrong, I’m sure we can fix together.” She pleaded, and the last of his defenses crumbled down. Still, he’d promised not to tell a living soul.

“Merlin’s been….hurt.” He started, and Gwen shot off the bed, already heading for the chamber doors. 

Elyan grabbed her arm gently, and pulled her back onto the bed, shaking his head. 

Gwen stared at him, confusion swirling in her eyes. “Elyan, what are you doing? We have to go see him at once! I must know if Gaius needs my help!”

A dark curl of bitterness rose into Elyan’s throat, and he spat out venomously, “I’m sure _Merlin_ doesn’t need _our_ help. He seems to be able to handle himself _quite well_ without it.”

Anger rose in Gwen’s face, and she pulled back her arm, asking sharply, “Whatever do you mean by that?”

She rose, and swept her skirts gracefully off the bedframe, straightening up to her full height. She graced him with a seething look.

“Merlin is _our friend,_ Elyan.”

Hatred and fury and deep, dark terror took over Elyan’s mind, and he stood up, spitting out,

“ _Merlin_ is a _sorcerer!”_

As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt cold, empty, and he collapsed back onto the bed, head in hands. He looked up to see Gwen’s face, and she was paler than he could ever recall her being.

Gwen shook her head hard, curls tumbling down from where they had been pinned back, framing her face. 

“ _Merlin?_ Honestly, Elyan, do you really expect me to believe that?” The colour was back now, an angry flush rising in her cheeks as her spirits rose to protect her friend.

Elyan looked back at her, and said, very quietly. “I wouldn’t have, either, unless I’d seen it for myself.”

Gwen’s jaw clenched, and she spun on her heel. She opened the door, and stuck her head out, pulling Ainsley back into the room with her.

Elyan rose, confused. “What-?”

She turned on him, pushing the boy towards him. “ _You,_ Elyan, are going to apologise to your squire for being an absolute _arse_ to him when he’d done nothing wrong.”

Gwen faced Ainsley, and her shoulders softened as she looked at his downcast face. “You, my dear, are going to sit here, be apologised to, and eat supper with your knight as he tries to explain to you sufficiently that he is a fool, and one who does not deserve good men like yourself if he refuses to treat them properly.”

Ainsley gaped at her, big eyes wide as saucers. “Mi- _Milady?”_

He flinched as Elyan strode towards him, placing firm hands on the thin shoulders.

Elyan winced, and bent down to face the boy properly. “She’s right, Ainsley.” 

He looked at Gwen, and her face was forbidding, daring him to disagree with her. Elyan looked back at the boy under his hands, and said very gently to him, “I made a promise to never treat you as Brinley had, and I broke that tonight. I cannot possibly expect you to forgive me, but please allow me to apologise.”

Ainsley shuddered a little as he protested weakly, “Milord, it it-” 

He coughed, then gathered his courage and continued, “It is well within your rights as a knight to determine my flaws and correct me as such. I will not make the same mistakes again, I promise.”

Ainsley looked up at Elyan’s face, and his eyes shone as he pleaded, “Please, milord, do not give me away! I will do better, I _promise!”_

Elyan took a deep breath, and looked up at Gwen, whose fury simmered clearly under the level expression she wore for the boy’s benefit.

“Ainsley…. _Greysen,”_ The squire peeked up at him at the usage of his first name, 

“You have done _no wrong._ Sir Brinley instilled in you respect of the knights by use of fear. I promised to treat you better, and I failed in that tonight. _You_ are well within your rights to request an alternative knight, and I would not begrudge you that, nor would I begrudge you taking this to the court. I _am your knight._ It is my responsibility to ensure your safety and your training. I cannot do that if I’ve bruised you black-and-blue.”

Elyan paused, taking in the way the squire seemed to cower at the thought of being sent to another. “However, I’ve also made a promise to you to not give you up. If you’d like, you are welcome to stay.”

The squire looked unsure, feet shifting and shoulders tense under Elyan’s hands. 

Gwen broke the silence, taking the boy from Elyan and settling him into a chair at the dining table. She led Elyan to the head of the table, and, pointing to the large chair, ordered him, 

“Sit. And _talk_ to him.”

Elyan looked up at her, anxiety still making him hazy around the edges, but he was clear enough to ask her, something she would almost characterise as amusement in his tone,

“And, pray tell, what is it _you_ are going to be doing?”

Anger still simmered in her gaze as she replied coolly,

“ _I_ am going to find a maidservant and ask her to bring both of you a good supper. Then, I am going to go see _our friend,_ who is-” She broke off, looking at his squire, wariness in her eyes.

Elyan rose, pushing the chair behind him, hands outstretched as if to bar her from leaving the room.

“Guinevere, he is dangerous. I _forbid_ you from going to see him!” 

_Crack._ A stunned Elyan lifted a hand to his cheek, where the skin was blooming darker, a bruise already forming. He looked to his sister, whose shoulders were heaving, shock clear as day on her face.

Gwen lifted her hands to her mouth, eyes wide and horrified at what she’d done. She stepped forward, unsure.

“Elyan, I’m-” She cut herself off, tears already brimming at the edges of her expressive eyes. 

Elyan dropped his hands, and turned his back on her, fury building deep in his gut. He strode to the chamber door, opened it, and looked at her forbiddingly. 

“You want to face him? You want to be torn to _shreds!? Go!”_ He roared at her, and Ainsley pressed himself into the chair Gwen had pressed him in to, thin shoulders curling in terror.

Guinevere gathered herself, and stalked regally to the doorframe. She leaned into her brother’s face, and hissed venomously,

“I will go see Merlin, because unlike you, I’ve not forgotten _loyalty.”_ Gwen turned her head to look at her brother’s squire, who had his head tipped meekly down, hands folded squarely in his lap, the picture of perfect, beaten obedience. She looked back at her brother, and warned,

“You _will_ talk to your squire, though. He does not deserve your temper. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to keep hold of him, if this is how you treat those who have given no fault!” 

Elyan flinched back as she knew he would when she referenced his abandonment of the family as a young man, and his gaze grew guilty and shadowed when he saw how afraid his squire was. Gwen knew he would never harm his squire-would rather fall on his sword before raising a hand to him-but extraordinary circumstances caused extraordinary results. 

Her brother was the kindest, gentlest man she knew, other than their father, but he had a bad habit of turning his back when anything challenged the views he’d built of those he considered family. She would not allow him to run away this time. For now, though, she decided, she would assess Merlin’s situation for herself. 

There would be no more running, and, if she had _anything_ to say about it, she would not see another member of _her family_ die, let alone be _burned at the stake. Merlin?_ A _sorcerer? An absurdity._ She had to set this right.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.....I love Elyan. I think he's got the kindest soul and heart, and cares so much about those around him. I wanted to play around with the way he left Gwen and Tom, though, and I don't know where the squire came in. I'm a sucker for angst, and Elyan would never, EVER hurt a kid in his right mindset, so I wanted to kind of put Ainsley in there as a way to show just how upset Elyan is. Gwen hitting Elyan....I don't know. Sometimes, I think it's out of character, but at the same time, I certainly have my own troubles with my sibling, and when old hurts come up in a new situation, explosions can result. I hope it came across as useful in the storyline, in any case. 
> 
> I've been reading and watching quite a bit about the rioting and looting happening in the United States. It is not my place to determine right or wrong, but.....if you compress gunpowder into a small enough barrel, and then light a match and toss it in, explosions are bound to happen. I simply hope, as a person who has no right to condemn anyone else, that everyone makes it home safely. I cannot imagine the choices people are being forced to make in these situations, and I understand, from my own limited perspective (I am trying to educate myself as best I can), why it is people are so angry. I wish that everyone, be they protester or otherwise, gets home safely and that they remain healthy. This is probably where some people would add some sort of platitude-'we can all hold hands and everything will be ok!' but....I've mentioned before, I find them pretty useless most of the time. The world has quite a few reckonings to have before we can be on a path towards peace, and all I can do and work for is that the future reckonings will not have to be violent to get the point across. Please forgive me if I've caused any offense, as that is most certainly not my intention, and I see how complex a matter this is, as well as how my own cultural or other biases could certainly influence my viewpoint. 
> 
> Truth is, it's so....strange, which perhaps isn't the right word, but... In twenty years or so (perhaps even just ten!) children will read history textbooks in their schools and places of learning about this limited period of time. So much has changed, and so much is yet to change. That's terrifying (I don't much like change I don't choose to make, with all honesty, I can be very controlling about the way I want things to be in my life), but perhaps it can be hopeful? I do not wish to take away from the serious and awful challenges people are being forced to make in their lives at the moment, and I don't wish to degrade the importance of this period of time, so I believe I'll stop there. Wherever you are, whoever you are, I truly wish all the best for you, and that you can go home safely and happily.
> 
> Be brave, my dear friends, be brave. I know it's hard and I know it's scary, but turn your head towards the sun and carry on. We can make positive change together, and I so look forward to our shining futures in a world where we can all be free. Maybe that won't happen in my lifetime, it probably won't, but that's our challenge, isn't it? To make the world better so those future generations, reading their books in their classrooms, will look at our time period and wonder at how barbaric we were, how seemingly simple the solutions should have been to us. We live and fight so that they may judge us later. It isn't pretty, but it's an important job to be done.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovely duckies. My sincere apologies for how long this took me-I could offer an excuse, but it is nothing that several billion people are dealing with at the moment (and in most respects, I am far, far better off than nearly the entire world by virtue of my birth, which really puts quite a lot into perspective). I do hope you enjoy this, and that you are safe. Though it has been two weeks, I have not forgotten about any of you, and I so appreciate every single one of you. I am so very fortunate to have such incredible supporters, and I do not take that lightly. Thank you, and be well. <3

Leon held Gwaine tightly, feeling the man’s breath evening out into a drifting sleep, exhausted from the drink, the fighting, and the emotional upheaval. He relaxed ever-so-slightly, feeling his own breathing slow down. 

He tilted his head back onto the wood of the alcove on the side of the tavern, and closed his eyes briefly. The past days had been a shitshow, and when he’d seen Gwaine slip off towards the lower city, he’d known he had to follow, all too aware of the kind of trouble Gwaine got into under  _ normal _ circumstances.

These were extraordinary circumstances, and he’d seen the absolute devastation lurking just behind the younger knight’s eyes as he’d last spoken with Merlin, the hurt and anguish.

Leon had been deeply concerned the man might try and harm himself. Although he’d been relieved to see him in the tavern, something in his heart had twisted at the sight of one of his charges so  _ shattered _ . 

Leon knew Gwaine liked to numb out everything that bothered him with drink, a habit he’d disliked but had no control over unless it affected his performance on patrol or on the battlefield. 

Gwaine, he thought, tilting his head down to look at the man nestled against him, curled up on his side, hand tucked beneath his cheek, was an enigma. 

He was as hot and cold as a newly forged blade, emotions running high but deceptively easy to douse into dull misery.

Underneath the brash persona was a deeply sensitive and kind man who gave his affection and support freely but rarely  _ asked  _ for any in return. He was fire and fury, but he had a core of deep kindness and thoughtfulness.

Despite first appearances, the younger knight was intensely caring, and had put himself in the firing line more than once to protect those around him. 

Although Leon liked to think he knew Gwaine very well, having spent years together on and off the field, fostering a camaraderie based in mutual trust and respect, the older man knew very little about Gwaine himself. 

Gwaine twitched against him, mouth curling into a frown, and Leon absentmindedly placed a hand on the man’s head, cupping his skull gently and stroking softly through the tangled hair. 

Gwaine practically melted against him, and Leon was reminded of how much he loved being touched, adored being held, even in brief moments where a quick clasp around the neck between shield-brothers was a reminder they were still alive. 

Gwaine thrived on physical contact, they had all noticed when he’d first come back to live in Camelot permanently. 

Small things, like pressing shoulders together at the fire as they warmed their hands made the man’s face brighten immediately.

Seeing a brother come back unharmed would inevitably lead to Gwaine beaming, arms thrown in a tight clasp around the other’s neck.

A happy Gwaine was a physical Gwaine, and the reverse applied when he was upset about something. Despite his carefree attitude, the man was more close-lipped than  _ Arthur  _ when it came to things troubling him. 

He became reserved, shrugged off any attempts to touch him, and acted out his frustration physically, small acts Leon was not  _ too _ hesitant to call small acts of self-harm, like biting his lips or nails until they bled, or drinking himself sick, or training with the knights (or squires, if he’d tired out all the elders) until he collapsed or was forced to stop, usually by Leon or even Arthur himself. 

It worried all of them, and Leon in that moment, sitting with his head tucked next to Gwaine’s, felt he had done a real disservice to the man, had been lax in his responsibilities. 

This utter collapse in of himself was something Leon should have seen coming, now that he knew to look for the signs. Gwaine had been skittish even as he crouched above Merlin, avoiding all touch unless he chose to give it, refusing to sleep until given a direct order, had even sought out his horse to turn his head into rather than lean into one of them. 

Gwaine  _ adored _ Verbosus, doted on him like a child with their puppy, but human contact always settled him far more. It broke Leon’s heart to think that he’d thought in that moment he couldn’t trust any of them enough for something as simple as comfort.

Gwaine, tucked in close, shuddered, his whole body trembling, and pressed in closer. Leon looked down at him, broken out of his musings, and smiled softly, running a gentle hand through tangled strands.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

Gwaine made a broken sound, and opened his eyes to look up at Leon. Amber eyes met blue, and some awareness returned to the younger man. He sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Leon’s chin with his head. Gwaine broke Leon’s light hold and started making to get up, trying to get free and run.

He was still shaky from the earlier panic, though, and Leon could see it redescending on him, legs not working well and buckling under his weight, arms shaking violently, teeth chattering.

Leon stood up, dragging Gwaine properly upright along with him, supporting most of the man’s weight. 

“L-L- _ Let. Me. G-Go.”  _ Gwaine hissed through clenched teeth, stammering in the way panic caused when it hadn’t fully left the body but made it jerk uncontrollably.

Leon ignored the demand, scooping up Gwaine’s mail and tucking it neatly under one arm. 

The tall knight swung one of Gwaine’s arms around his shoulders and pulled the younger man in close, wrapping one of his own arms round Gwaine’s waist. 

When Leon’s arm made contact with his ribs, Gwaine bit off a short cry. Leon narrowed his eyes at the man, but sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his newly freed hand.

“When we get back to the castle, Gwaine, you  _ will  _ let me look at those ribs.” 

Gwaine looked shifty, even through the haze of emotion and drunkenness still clouding his vision. 

“ _ And  _ you  _ will _ be submitted to a full examination.” Leon added, knowing all too well Gwaine’s signs when he didn’t want anyone to see his pain.

It was no doubt a relic from times past, a period of time in Gwaine’s life when he’d been treated badly and shown no love. Leon knew the signs well enough. They were subtle, but they were there. 

Gwaine had a propensity for avoiding conflict between his mates, going to extremes to keep everyone happy, even at the expense of his own comfort. 

When something upset him, he would head to the training fields and work past the point of exhaustion, having learned or been taught to ignore the signals coming from his body telling him to stop or risk serious harm. 

The drinking was another. Leon had seen people with a reliance on the alcohol-the shaking and trembling of the limbs and irritable temper if cut off for too long. He blessed the stars that Gwaine had not reached that point and functioned perfectly well when going without for long stretches.

Still, Gwaine rarely if ever went to the tavern with those who considered him a friend, more focused on getting drunk than having a good time. All of these things needed to change, but those difficult talks would have to wait until they were safely ensconced within castle walls.

“Mer- _ Merlin. _ ” Gwaine stammered out, jaw clenching in frustration when he couldn’t pronounce the name without stumbling.

“What  _ about  _ Merlin?” Leon asked, confused. His curls bounced in front of his face, and he pushed them out of the way with an irritated huff.

At the frustrated noise, Gwaine looked to the ground, and concentrated very hard on putting one foot in front of the other. 

“Gwaine.” Leon’s tone was firm.

Gwaine wilted, and Leon winced at the reaction.

“He need-needs Gaius.” Gwaine refused to say anymore, and closed his eyes, leaning his weight further into Leon, relishing the heat of another body beside him.

Leon noticed, but said nothing, feeling a deep sense of relief that Gwaine wasn’t pulling away from him anymore,  _ trusted him  _ to be so close without a struggle. He didn’t want the next few hours to be any more of a battle than they had to be. 

He refused to let Gwaine be by himself, at least until he was sober and had a good talk with the older man.

Leon had seen all too many men, good men, choose the permanent option instead of asking for help battling the evil poisoning their minds, turning them away from the beauty of the world and instead showing them all the shadowy corners where fear and misery hid. 

He would not be complicit in Gwaine’s death.

That was a battle to be had once they were closer to their chambers, though, and he refocused on the man tucked into his side. 

It was going to be a long night, no doubt full of unpleasant, emotional talks, but it was Leon’s responsibility to care for Gwaine. As First Knight of Camelot, and as a friend.

He would not fail Gwaine as so many had before.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit sketched, and it isn't as detail-heavy as I would have liked, but I was struggling with the ending to this chapter. I wanted them, in this one, to get back to the chambers and deal with quite a bit more, but there was a block to it. Finally, I decided that it wasn't worth fighting for that ending when I could write another chapter on it, and finished this one up as is. I hope it is what people have been looking for. I have kind of a rough 'headcanon,' if you will, on each knight's history and backstory. We never learned all that much about them in the show, and I felt that was a bit of a waste. I am working towards something with Gwaine, I think, and I hope your heartstrings are tugged at when you read this, because that's how I know I did an acceptable job in conveying the emotions. I am trying to brush up on my writing skills over this summer since I have the time and nowhere to go. I don't exactly know what my future holds, but perhaps if I am good enough, I could write a novel with original characters. Who knows? 
> 
> That's the beauty of the future, isn't it? So often in nature is something beautiful something also dangerous. The ocean, for instance. A vast wonderland of unique species, currents, and even weather patterns that exist nowhere else on the planet. Still, if not treated with the proper respect, you will be smashed against rocks. It's rather late (or early, depending upon one's perspective), so forgive my existential musings. Truthfully, though, I am concerned about the future. I've of course spoken in the past about my own struggles with a balanced mindset, and I am certain many out there are struggling right now for one. I have no qualifications in the medical or psychiatric fields, of course, but I've always thought of bonds as a beautiful thing. If you feel you aren't strong enough to hold on, let one of us who are stronger in that moment grasp ahold of your hands. I can never and will never tell you what to do with your own life, that is not my place and never will be, but I will say that, personally, if I had continued down the dark path I was headed down once upon a time, my life would never have been so bright now. There are still fights to be had, and some days I feel exhausted just by the thought of the work we will have to put in, but I remember something very important to me. I don't think I've mentioned this before, but I happen to be Jewish. Don't worry, we are not a conversion-based religion, and even if we were, it is never my place to impose my own beliefs upon anyone else. 
> 
> That is wrong, and I do not stand for it in my own life. That being said, I don't know what my relationship is to a higher power or a god. If there is one, I have many questions and quite a few strong statements for them. Nonetheless, we have in my ethno-religion a focus on the next generation. Everything we do is for them. Part of it is that there aren't many of us in the world anymore, and part of it is the long and painful history of oppression and genocide. The future, for us, are those children, and it's our solemn duty and greatest joy to raise them to have respect and care for all living beings. I live today, fight today, struggle today, so that they may not have to in their own lives. This isn't necessarily a concept unique to Jews, but it is one I hold fast to. My future may not be what I want it to be, and perhaps I will not lead the life I dream of. There is the possibility that I will be able to give my children the lives they dream of, though, and raise them with love and kindness towards all. 
> 
> Every life is valuable, and precious, no matter how small or how big. Who are we to say that the life of an ant is unworthy and crush it beneath our feet? Every life form has a place on this planet, and so do you. So do I. This probably sounds rather preachy, and my sincerest apologies if it has come out that way. I am quite tired, and it's probably best I find my bed and wander into the dream realm. I would love to dream of flying, those are my favorite dreams. I so hope all of you are well and safe, and I extend my deepest gratitude and love to you all. Every one of you is important, in ways you could never dream of. We all live together on a beautiful woven tapestry, each thread a different color, complementary and at the same time contrasting. There are kinks in the weave, and holes where we have burned the threads, but we are still beautiful together. Alone, we are nothing more than thin, wispy strands of silk. Together, we make a masterpiece. Together, we stand, divided we fall. Dream of happy times and the future we will have together. My love and appreciation of all the fine threads out there. Thank you! :) <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for your patience.

Merlin whimpered in his sleep, a soft, thready sound in the back of his throat. Body pushed beyond any reasonable limits, he didn’t have the energy to thrash about, but his unbound hand fluttered at his side.

Percival, perched on a tiny stool set by his bedside, hushed him gently, dipping a cloth into a bowl of cool water, wringing it out just a bit, then draping it across the man’s eyes. He picked up Merlin’s hand in his own, and stroked it, trying to provide whatever comfort he could.

Merlin’s brow smoothed out, and he dropped into a deeper sleep, chest rising and falling more evenly.

The large knight sighed, and leaned back, stretching massive arms out until there was an audible crack from bones and joints shifting and popping properly into place again. He absently rubbed at one of his shoulders, wincing at the tenderness he found. 

“Allow me.” Gaius swept up behind him and dug bony hands into his shoulders, releasing the tension held there.

“Thank you.” Percival said quietly.

Gaius simply nodded, reaching past the giant of a man to smooth back Merlin’s hair, the black strands in striking contrast to healing bruises and scrapes littering the pale skin.

The physician straightened himself up, and winced, rubbing at his lower back. He tapped Percival on the shoulder, and said,

“Come now, watching Merlin will not make him heal faster.”

Percival shook his head. He hadn’t been there for Merlin during what must have been the most terrifying moments of his life, but he could and would be there for the aftermath. 

The massive knight had spent days by the warlock’s bedside, propping him up and dribbling warm broth down his throat, assisting Gaius in wiping down the upper half of the man’s body, even fetching wood at all hours of the night to keep the temperature warm enough for proper healing. 

Despite his best efforts, Merlin hadn’t woken up fully since he’d healed Arthur’s hands, and Gaius’s pinched brow told Percival this was not normal behavior. 

Merlin looked so  _ small  _ there, on the cot, even though Percival knew the man was quite tall, especially for a peasant boy. 

Percival heard a crash behind him, and Gaius cursed violently, startling the knight. He’d never heard the physician be anything less than elegant and courteous. 

He turned, taking in the scene. Gaius’s hands, usually so steady and sure, were trembling violently, shaking so hard he’d dropped a pitcher, thankfully empty. The physician looked so _ lost _ in that moment, staring at the vessel with an expression on his face Percival could only characterise as deep, gnawing fear. 

Gaius turned abruptly, struggling to bend down, and the knight saw a glint of tears in the old eyes. Understanding swept through Percival like a wave, and it hit him suddenly how vulnerable the man must be feeling. 

The days at Merlin’s bedside had given him time to think, and, although Percival was built like a bear, his head was anything but empty. Gaius had spent his life in the service of the king, who had turned on everyone but him, then had all but adopted a boy with abilities in magic more resembling a hurricane than anything human. 

Gaius had abandoned his own safety time and time again to protect the boy who had become his son. Percival, for the first time in his adult life, had a family, and although he wasn’t entirely sure where he was meant to fit in or what he was supposed to do, he knew that family was there for each other.

Fuzzy memories of sweet, sun-drenched days next to ponds, or the scent of dark peasant bread, studded with dried fruits from summer harvests, came to the forefront, but Percival pushed them away. He remembered the screams even more vividly than he did the sounds of his mother’s voice, and could clearly picture the sound she’d made as Cenred’s men shoved a dagger through her throat, blood filling her lungs and body hitting the ground with a dull thump.

Percival had failed the first family he’d been given, and they’d paid the price with their lives. He had been given another chance, and he would not waste it.

He pushed himself up, tottering slightly as numb and cold muscles protested the sudden movement, and bent to pick up what Gaius had dropped.

“You have no need to fear, though I understand why you do.” Percival said quietly. 

Gaius, never one to be lost for words, shot back, silvery steel coating his words, “No, I don’t believe you do.”

Percival nodded his large head, and gestured for the pitcher. Gaius gave it to him, and the knight dipped it in a basin of cool water, setting it on the table. Not for the first time, he marveled at the ease of access Camelot had to everything. Fresh water, clean enough to drink, plenty of hunting grounds stocked with the choicest of game...it was luxurious. A far cry from his original home, little though did he remember it.

“I don’t mean about the magic. I don’t suppose I’ll ever understand that.” Percival huffed a laugh, shoulders curling in a bit. Merlin’s sudden explosion of power had been terrifying, and for a brief instant, he’d been afraid of him.

Deep inside where he didn’t want to acknowledge it, there was still a sore spot that told him he was  _ still  _ a bit afraid. 

He shook it off, though. His fear would serve no purpose, and he musn’t let it control him. It would only hurt those around him, leaving everything in ruins once again.

“No, I meant about being afraid.” Gaius’s ears perked up, and he paused, listening. 

“You’ve been afraid for him, for yourself, for longer than I can imagine, and you’re surrounded by people who would sooner burn you at the stake than look at you.”

Percival’s brow furrowed, and he added mournfully,

“Truthfully, I’m not surprised either of you hid it, even from us.”

He shook his head, and his shoulders drooped. 

“I’m aware...I realise I’m not the brightest of Arthur’s Company, but even I know the essential tenets of knighthood. The first and noblest task, something we swear to Arthur himself, is that our responsibility lies first and foremost with the innocent and pure of heart.”

Percival looked over to where Merlin was lying, face pale but with two spots of pink rising on his cheeks, and marveled,

“He is the brightest, purest man I’ve ever met. How could I have ever thought he meant to do me harm? My task was to protect him, and not only have I failed at that,” he turned away, shoulders shuddering in revulsion, 

“I have failed the code I swore my life and fealty to.”

A memory struck him. Percival was not one to speak of emotions lightly. He preferred silence over wordiness, and refused any attempts of aid offered even by the closest of friends. He wasn’t entirely sure which day of the yearly cycle his family had been slaughtered, not having any sort of formal education like the nobles did, but he knew it was the middle of the month of the first ripening of the elderberries his mother had dried and baked into their bread.

Those couple of weeks, Percival became even quieter, he knew it. He had never spoken of his past life with anyone, but somehow those who surrounded him knew he was hurting, and gave him space. Arthur turned a blind eye to the morning practices he missed and assigned those who dared complain to shoveling out the royal stables. 

Leon brought him presents like a little magpie, cataloguing those which made him smile and repeating those the following year. Gwaine, in a rare twist of events, blocked him from the local taverns and pubs, and instead sat by Percival’s side, chattering on about everything and nothing when it was clear the silence had gotten too embedded in the large man’s bones. Elyan gave him space, and an agile sparring partner when he felt the need to be destructive. Merlin was another story altogether. 

He had a natural inclination to pamper those he felt fit for the honour (Arthur rarely, if ever, qualified), and it was never more pronounced than when he felt one of his own could do with cheering up. For weeks, Percival’s chambers would be spotless, Merlin ensuring every task was done to perfection (despite the fact he played a fool in Arthur’s chambers, he knew very well how to complete his tasks).

His bathwater would be scented with the oils Merlin somehow knew Percival preferred (how, the man did not know, as he’d never told a  _ soul _ about his love of irises, for gods-forbid  _ Gwaine  _ find out), and somehow, some way, the manservant would find a way to bribe the cook into baking precious loaves of bread in the peasant style (much to her disgust), studded liberally with dried elderberry, currents, walnuts, and hazelnuts.

It was dense and brown (much different than the fine white bread Percival was now served as a nobleman), but when he broke open that first loaf, still steaming from the ovens and kept hot through Merlin’s mad dash through the castle, a little peace crept into his heart and stayed there. 

All of this effort for a few loaves of bread, after a very brief mention of his mother’s baking once to Merlin. He’d apparently taken the conversation to heart and kept it there until he felt the information was needed.

Merlin had gone to all that trouble, for  _ a loaf of bread.  _ No, Percival corrected himself, he’d gone to all that trouble because he’d seen a friend in pain. 

There were, Percival figured, a few different kinds of people in the world. The first was the kind who couldn’t care less about the suffering of others. They were the abusers, the ones who looked to make a quick and tidy profit off the misery in the world. The second were those who preached acceptance and kindness, yet made no real move to effect positive change. The third kind  _ did  _ help others, but only those they could truly understand, who were like them, not so different than empathising was a challenge. The fourth and final kind were those who saw the suffering of others and not only made room for the hard work of understanding, but went out of their way to help others face their challenges.

The Knights of Camelot were designed-in theory-to be that final kind of person, but...looking back at all the heartache and grief they had caused, could they truly claim that honour? Percival wasn’t sure.

He shook his head. He would leave the deep thinking to those better suited. He knew he didn’t have a chance at truly comprehending the inner depths of the secrets of living and existence. 

Percival looked at his arms, massive even in stillness, and grimaced. He knew the hulking figure he presented, and was well aware of his own lack of education (especially compared to such figures as _Arthur,_ King of Camelot, or _Sir_ _Leon, First Knight,_ or even _Gwaine,_ who, for all his ranting about the ills of nobles, obviously had the upbringing and education of one), and how those two particular things combined to make him little more than hired muscle in most people’s eyes. 

He twisted his lips, equal parts amused and sad. A light touch to his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts, and he realised he’d trailed off.

Gaius stood above him, shaking his head fondly, with no small amount of exasperation. 

“Where does Arthur find all of you? Enough common sense between the lot of you to spin a cabbage round,” he scolded, but there was real affection in his eyes.

The physician dunked a fresh cloth in cool water, handing it to Percival, who was startled to find his eyes closing against his will. 

“That’s quite enough. I am perhaps an old man,” a twinkle entered Gaius’s eyes, “but I’m not so foolish as to ignore the measure of a man, rather than his muscles.”

Percival ducked his head, feeling his cheeks begin to burn. He mopped at them viciously with the scrap of fabric. 

There was rustling behind him, but Percival ignored it in favour of stumbling over to check on Merlin, who was beginning to come out of the stupor such heavy dosing of poppy milk brought on. He nearly tripped onto the cot itself, feet heavier than he could ever remember them being. Percival caught himself on a table corner, the wood digging into his arm and pulling off a layer of skin, and Gaius descended on him like a hawk.

“Well, now you’ve gone and done it.” Gaius grabbed a massive arm and pulled with surprising strength. Percival wobbled to his feet, and allowed himself to be lead to a bench nearby, where the physician peered into his eyes and laid a hand flat on his forehead. 

The knight shivered from the drying water on his face, and Gaius clucked at him, “How many hours have you slept since returning to Camelot?”

Percival opened his mouth to respond, but Gaius cut him off.

“No, never mind. I am in no mood to hear of  _ yet another  _ absurdly self-sacrificing gestures from one of  _ Arthur’s  _ men.” He said, hissing at the bloodshot eyes and chapped lips. “I should have been watching you, as I am well aware of the backwards sense of chivalry you lot seem to think serves as common sense.”

The physician tugged Percival up, wagging a finger in his face, “I can assure you it does not. You must take care of yourself when the battles are over, do you hear me?”

Percival tried to argue, “The battle hasn’t finished yet, Gaius.” 

He gestured with a wave to Merlin, who had begun turning in his sleep, face pinching up as the painkillers wore off.

Gaius looked very, very tired. “My dear boy, there are times in life where you must trust those around you to help finish the fight you’ve begun. It is not weakness nor selfishness to require and want assistance. The mark of a true warrior is one who knows where their shield is weak and asks for support.”

Percival shut his mouth dumbly, not knowing what to say. 

Gaius pinched his mouth shut for a moment, looking skyward for a brief instant, then pinned Percival with one of his looks. One eyebrow dipped towards its matching eye, the other climbed to his hairline. 

“You  _ are  _ going to go to your chambers, draw a bath, eat a plate that at the minimum contains cheese, bread, and whatever meat you’d prefer, and get at least six candlemarks of sleep. I  _ will  _ know if you do not.”

Percival stared at him, brain fuzzy.

Gaius huffed at him, then retrieved a small vial from the table, pressing it into one of Percival’s paws. “Take this only when you are ready to sleep. You’ve had it before, and you will suffer no ill effects, I assure you.”

The knight asked, exhaustion hitting him like a wave now he recognised it, “What is it?”

Gaius smiled at him toothily. “Probably best you don’t know.”

Percival shuddered. He’d heard Merlin complain about the ingredients Gaius brewed into his potions, and he had no need to find out whether this one contained eye of newt or sheep shit. 

“Aye,” he heard himself agreeing. 

Gaius stuck his head out of the door, flagging down a passing chambermaid. “See that Sir Percival’s squire knows to draw him a bath and ask the kitchens for a good, hearty meal. Tell Squire Alcott that he is not to leave until he has seen his knight to sleep.”

She curtsied, hair bobbing around her sweet round face, and scurried off to do as the royal physician asked.

Percival tried to reason with the man. “Gaius, there’s no reason Alcott needs to stay with me. I’m perfectly capable of caring for myself.”

The other eyebrow met its pair. “Oh,  _ really?”  _

Percival winced, and he could see a truly blistering diatribe headed his way, so he dropped his head meekly and said, “My sincere apologies, Gaius. I know you are only doing what is right befitting your station as head physician. You are indeed truly gifted in your field, and I consider it an honour to have you concerned for my wellbeing.”

Gaius grumbled, but it was good-natured, and Percival could see the pleased glimmer in his eyes. “Alright, then, enough of that. Off with you!”

The push out the door and down the hallway was gentle, and so Percival was blindsided when Gwen ran full-tilt into him.

“Pardon me, Milady,” he gasped out a moment later, flat on the floor and Gwen wringing her hands together.

She shook her head violently, and reached out with strong arms to help pull him off the ground. 

His head spun, and Percival felt a bit sick, but he clamped down on it, ruthlessly beating the feeling away. He would  _ not  _ sick up on Elyan’s sister. He would never hear the end of it.

“I’m so sorry, Percival. Are you alright?” Gwen fretted, big brown eyes melting soft with concern, and the man blushed when she leaned into his space, going on tiptoes as if to ensure he hadn’t hit his head too hard.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said gently. “What’s got you in such a hurry?”

She bit her lip and folded her hands to her chest. She stepped back, and Percival felt a bit lost without the steadying hands on his arms. 

“I-It’s  _ Merlin. _ ” She whispered, looking around.

Percival went cold with rage, and his hand tightened around the vial still clenched in it. 

_ “Elyan.”  _ He gritted out, all sleep-softness leaving his body in an instant. 

The vial in his hand shattered, cutting deeply into the flesh, potion mingling with the blood streaming freely down his fingers, but he didn’t feel it, too consumed with rage and fury and no small amount of terror. 

Gwen pulled on the hand, trying to get it open to remove the glass shards no doubt embedded, but it was like taking water from a stone. 

“Percival.” She said quietly, and his gaze snapped to hers. Gwen smiled at him, trying to appear less shaken than she felt. He was huge, towering over her, and there was none of the shy softness he usually had around her or other ladies (even the elderly ones, much to their delight and Gwaine’s endless laughter) in his face. 

“Percival, I know you’re angry, but please don’t hurt him. He is my brother.” She pleaded, love for Elyan temporarily overriding the burning fury simmering in her gut.

The tall knight reeled back as if he’d been slapped. 

“I-I would never-” He stammered, hurt and something resembling resignation crossing his face.

Gwen shook her head wildly. “No, of course you wouldn’t. You’re the sweetest man I know.”

Some of the hurt on his face disappeared, but it was replaced by exhaustion, and she couldn’t help but peer into his face with concern at the dark circles under his eyes. 

“Just,” she offered, “Get in a good one for me. I didn’t have time to give him a proper lesson.”

The exhaustion was hidden away under a mask of steel. Percival nodded firmly. “I will.”

As he set off, though, he paused and turned to her. “Merlin...He is not what you might think of him. Please,” he begged her, tone turning miserable, “Please look past what you might once have seen in him for what he truly is.”

He rubbed his hands together, then winced as glass bit deeper into wounds. Gaius would not be happy. Still, the pain cleared his mind, and he welcome it as he stalked towards Elyan’s quarters.

Gwen watched him go, feeling as if she’d missed something in their interaction. Still,  _ Merlin  _ was in  _ there,  _ why was she out  _ here?  _ She walked up to the door, elegant skirts held firmly in one hand, and lifted her hand to the handle, pushing the door open. She stepped inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been two weeks. Again. I realise this is not terribly often, but I must offer my sincere apologies, as my life has become much busier as the world starts rebuilding from the first shock of the virus. 
> 
> It is quite late (or early, depending upon one's perspective), so I will try to keep this brief. I know how difficult times are at the moment, and I am very well aware of the uncertainty of the future. It is tempting in these times to take decisions into your own hands, and I understand the desire. However, please never believe you are not special or unique. I like to think of the world as a glass ball. It's fallen a few times, and it's shattered to pieces, billions of them. Someone took the time to piece it back together, and now, instead of clear light, it acts as a prism. Each shattered piece reflects a specific, different shade of colours, unique and not replaceable. Removing one shard will perhaps not cause the entire globe to collapse, but it will remove a piece of its beauty. You are worth more than appearances, you are worth more than the way you feel about yourself, and you are worth more than the way others treat you. If others don't see in you the beauty you find in yourself, forget about them. You owe it to no one to mold to their expectations. 
> 
> I cannot promise there is a meaning to life, or to existence, or even to...anything. I will say that, even if this is all for nothing, be kind. It is the one thing in this world that is free to give and can make real change. We owe it to ourselves to be kind to ourselves. That is easier said than done. We have an obligation to others to give them kindness as well. That being said, there are points where kindness turns into being silent and accepting of ills done to you. It's a constant and difficult balance, but I can promise from personal experience that giving kindness for no reason at all is one of the most fulfilling ways of life. Well, I can't promise, because that's what I find fulfilling, and now I worry I am coming across as rather arrogant, but....in any case, we could all use a little kindness these days. I cannot express how deeply felt my appreciation of all of you is. It's an honour to write, and an even greater honour that all of you choose to give me your stories. Thank you. <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, a bit longer than 14 days, I know. Oops! Thank you for reading!

Gwen stood in the doorway for a moment, watching. Gaius was standing with his back turned to her, a wrinkled hand held to his head, the other trembling and grasping the table next to him. 

Sharp eyes turned to the small bed near the fireplace. She bit back a groan as she saw how pale Merlin was. Gwen stepped forward, and the soft footfalls must have alerted Gaius, for he spun around to face her, eyes wide and hands falling to his side. 

“Milady! I wasn’t expecting you here!” Gaius covered smoothly, but Gwen could see the panic hidden expertly in his eyes. He crossed the room swiftly, positioning himself subtly between her and the cot. 

“Gaius,” Gwen said, “What’s going on?”

He deflated completely, the wind knocked out of his sails, and Gaius sank onto a bench. Alarmed, Gwen sat next to him, hands hovering uselessly over his back.

“You know.” 

“So it is true?” Gwen asked, heart picking up a beat. Something must have shown in her voice, because Gaius prickled, sitting ramrod straight and staring her right in the eyes. 

“He is the same Merlin.” 

Gwen shook her head, but was quick to add, “I didn’t come here to accuse Merlin of  _ anything _ . I came here because Elyan told me he was unwell and I wanted to see my friend.”

Then, as if by magic, Merlin stirred on the cot. Gwen rose, draping her skirts around her elegantly, and went to his side.

Gaius followed closely, bending over Merlin’s head and tapping his cheeks, encouraging him to wake up fully.

“Merlin. Merlin, my boy, you must wake up now.” 

Merlin frowned, eyes still closed, and grumbled, “Just five more minutes, Gaius. I swear you’re worse than Arthur!” 

There was a beat, then Merlin lurched upright, scrabbling for balance with one arm bound to his chest. He cried out, 

“Arthur!”, sending him into a fit of coughing, ribs complaining and constricting his lungs. 

Gwen wound her arms around Merlin’s unbandaged one, helping support him while Gaius rubbed the man’s back.

“Easy there. You’ve given me enough grey hairs, I should think.” Gaius kept his tone light, but the relief was clear in his voice and on his face.

“Gai-Gaius,” Merlin gasped out between coughs racking his body, “What is Arthur going to  _ do  _ to me?”

Tears were forming in the corner of his eyes from the exertion, and the look on his face was haunted. 

Gaius turned his head to whisper to Gwen, “He’s coming off of a heavy dosage of poppy milk.” 

Gwen had spent enough time as one of Gaius’s pseudo-apprentices to know the way the drug could leave you floundering in a pool of emotion, too exhausted to deal with properly, but not so numbed they couldn’t be felt with every excruciating detail.

Merlin shook his head, raising one hand to touch his brow. He winced as his fingers hit the still-healing gashes and bruises littering his skin. 

“Shh,” Gwen soothed him, “It’s over now.”

A fine tremor started up in the man’s body, and Gwen and Gaius exchanged concerned looks.

“Lay back down, Merlin. You aren’t going to do yourself any good exhausting what little strength you’ve got.” Gaius chided him, laying his ward back down onto the cot and helping him lay on his side, helping soothe the coughing fit.

Merlin closed his eyes, but opened them once again as Gwen settled on the stool next to him. 

She looked at him. He refused to meet her gaze, and his face paled.

“Merlin.” 

He shut his eyes and shook his head. “Leave me alone, Guinevere.”

Gwen leaned forward and tapped him on the nose. “Merlin, I did not come here to accuse you of anything.”

One eye opened and he peered at her distrustfully. “ _ Really _ ? That would be a new one.”

She smiled with relief and no small amount of shame. “I know.” 

He looked at her fully, then, and struggled to sit upright, but his one unbound arm couldn’t take the weight or stress and buckled under him, sending him toppling halfway out of the bed. Gwen launched herself at him, pulling him upright once again.

Merlin laughed bitterly. “I can’t even sit up on my own. Some threat I am.” 

His voice was thick and sour.

Gaius had backed off once he’d seen Gwen handling Merlin’s fall herself, but he’d positioned himself just close enough to lend a hand if necessary. Gwen shook her head at him as he opened his mouth to say something, and he raised an eyebrow at her but said nothing, retreating to his books.

“Merlin, who on earth would consider  _ you _ a threat?” Gwen asked, the thought ludicrous. Merlin was….Merlin. He was quite possibly the least threatening person she could recall meeting in her life. She leaned in closer to him, tugging down bedclothes and smoothing out the loose shirt he was dressed in.

He chuckled humourlessly, then met her eyes firmly for the first time. They glowed an eerie golden colour, and he raised his unbound hand. Golden wisps collected around it, curling around his fingers and weaving their way through the air. 

“You have no idea what I’ve done, Gwen. What I’ve done, where I’ve gone, who I’ve killed.”

She blanched, for the first time afraid of her friend. He was cold and powerful and everything  _ not  _ Merlin. Then, though, as if that small act had taken all of his energy to perform, Merlin slumped, panting heavily. He slowly and painfully laid himself back down on his little bed, back to Gwen in a clear dismissal.

Gwen clutched her heart, which was racing and trying to beat its way out of her chest and down the corridor. Her knees were weak and her palms were sweating. 

She was not the shy and unsure girl she once was, though, and it smarted that Merlin thought he could get rid of her so easily. Rather than responding in anger or fear as was her first instinct, Gwen reached for her handkerchief, scented with lavender, and dipped it in a bucket of water placed conveniently near her stool. 

She folded it in shaking hands, then stepped up behind Merlin. Gwen lifted the back of his hair up in her hands, noting how warm the skin was and how soft the black strands were, and draped the cloth across the back of his neck.

“Merlin,” Gwen said softly, “Did you really think I would storm out so easily?”

His shoulders shuddered, and not for the first time Gwen noted how thin they were. For all his height, Merlin had a very fae look about him, delicately boned and graced with a pair of large ears which somehow added a dash of charm to his character. 

He was the complete opposite of the men and boys Gwen had grown up around and served, which in hindsight was one of the things that had so attracted her to him when he first arrived in Camelot. The attraction had faded quickly enough when Arthur had taken an interest in her, but had settled instead into a deep and loving friendship. It was so easy to forget how brave Merlin was, even without the newly-revealed magic, as he rushed into battles by Arthur’s side without so much as a chestplate.Though, Gwen thought somewhat wryly, that did explain a few things. Looking down at him, how small he looked curled up, she couldn’t imagine how heavily the weight of such a secret had dug into his body. 

She settled herself on the edge of the bed, stroking down his back gently. “Merlin, listen to me. You are perhaps the most confusing man I have ever met.”

An offended noise rose from beside her, but she ignored it and continued, “You rush into danger blindly whenever you get the chance, yet you warn others to beware of violence as a solution to life’s problems. You jump to protect Arthur with your life with no thought as to the consequences, yet refuse to allow others to do the same for you.” 

Merlin tensed, and Gwen moved her hand up to settle in his hair, brushing it back out of his face and into some semblance of order. The hairs felt like down in her hands, and, once pushed back, resembled disarrayed bird feathers.

She went on, “I have never met anyone like you, Merlin. You are the kindest soul in the world, of that I’ve been sure since the day we met, and yet you seem sadder than anyone I’ve ever known. I can’t promise I will agree with all your decisions, but I’m not leaving you, and I’m not going to do anything but try and give you the same love and support you lend to everyone else.”

It seemed like in that moment a dam broke, and shuddered cries, soft and plaintive, broke their way out of the lump next to her. Tears jumped to Gwen’s eyes at the sound, and she wiped them away, climbing fully onto the bed and pulling Merlin up into her arms.

“Oh, Merlin.” She clutched him tightly, his body half laying down and half in her grasp. Slowly, as if not sure of its welcome, Merlin’s arm rose to circle her back, and she nearly cried at how tentative the gesture was.

  
  


“I’m here, Merlin. You don’t have to face any of this alone.” Gwen pressed a kiss into the mop of hair, and the arm around her tightened as Merlin’s back shook with the force of his cries.

In the corner of her eye, Gwen caught Gaius slipping out of the chambers. She closed her eyes and turned her head into Merlin’s.

“You are never alone.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to do something a bit softer than the other chapters, make it less intense and little more releasing. Gwen, I firmly believe, deserved to have her friendship with Merlin carry on past her relationship with Arthur. Everyone is off having their own crisis, it's time that someone took Merlin's needs into account first (well, besides Gaius, but his entire job is fixing up everyone else's messes). I cannot imagine her turning on him.
> 
> I so hope all of you are well. It's rather late, so I will (try to) make this brief. As I'm sure you've noticed, brevity is not a strong suit of mine. In any case, I was watching the stars tonight. It occurred to me just how fortunate we are, living on a planet that is so perfectly suited to our needs. I cannot help but imagine one day touching the stars and having the opportunity to meet people from other planets. Can you imagine meeting someone whose entire existence is completely different? We humans struggle enough with just the very simple differences between us, but I have to hope that we will be able to iron out the issues given time and enough kindness. Idealistic, perhaps, but a little dash of idealism is a valuable thing when paired with an attention to realism. One of our strongest gifts as a species is the ability to empathise and care for each other. Very few other animals have the kinds of complex brains we do, and what a privilege it is to have the opportunity to use it for good. 
> 
> We are such a funny species, really. We are so concerned with the lives of our own species and the little problems we have (when I say little problems, I mean small squabbles, not systems of inequalities or hatred, as obviously those are not petty) that sometimes we forget to look at the stars and remember where we came from. At one point in many if not most cultures, someone looked at the same glittering beacons of light and the brilliance to write stories about them. How truly incredible is that? How fortunate we are to exist among the stars, because, to me at least, they represent hope. As I've said before, hope is the only thing that can survive in absolute darkness.
> 
> I appreciate all of you so very much, and I cannot express how much I care for each of you. You are never alone and am always here for you in spirit. I do have a Tumblr account, so if you ever need to talk to someone, message me at LivingInATimeOf-Myths. I would never pretend to have any medical legitimacy or to know the secrets of life (if someone does, please chat me up!), but I can at the least offer a friendly ear. Be well. <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's much longer than usual. Thank you all for being so patient with me! I hope you are well.

Percival staggered down the corridor, one hand on the wall for support. His legs felt like jelly beneath him, and his head was spinning. He focused on putting one foot in front of another, the job taking all of his strength to achieve. His hand stung like wildfire where it was clenched at his side, the pain helping to clear his mind and fight the fog that encroached threateningly on the sides of his vision. A loose stone in the floor caught his foot, and he went crashing down, hands flying forward reflexively to catch himself. His arms collapsed underneath him and his head hit the stones with a dull thunk. Percival closed his eyes. He would rest, if just for a moment. 

A loud rattle outside the windows snapped him partially back to awareness, and he shook his head, crawling to his knees and pushing himself up again. He could not allow himself to get distracted. Merlin needed his protection and Elyan had fucked up.    
  


He was just….so tired. Percival couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in his own bed-it could have been the night before they left Camelot-and his neck seemed to have a permanent crick in it from long nights spent leaning against the wall in Gaius’s chambers. His eyes closed against his will, and he fought to keep them open. He leaned more heavily on the wall as he marched forwards, the pace agonisingly slow.    
Finally, after what seemed like hours, he found himself in the wing of the castle dedicated to the knights of Camelot. 

“Percival!” He heard his name being called and ignored it in favour of continuing to walk forward, afraid he might not be able to start up again if he stopped.

Loud footsteps, multiple sets, hurried towards him. The chatter of noblemen was clear, whiny voices and pretentious, put-upon accents filling his ears and blinding his vision. Percival ignored it still, but he could feel himself losing momentum. A hand landed on his arm, and he startled back to awareness, heart pounding wildly and head clearing momentarily, enough to see Arthur standing there, a worried look on his face.

“Percival, is everything okay? How is-” here Arthur leaned in and lowered his voice, watchful and wary of the eyes on them, “Merlin doing?”

A high-pitched, nasally voice piped up, “My Lord, surely you aren’t serious about this? The edict against magic has been a cornerstone of Camelot’s strength for decades! This must be a joke, milord, and not a very funny one at that.”

Percival grunted and tried to shake the hand off, but Arthur dug his nails in and turned to shout at the councilmembers, “Sod off, you harpies!”

Loud gasps echoed through the hall and Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, looking stressed and worn. “My apologies, Councilmen. We will reconvene this discussion tomorrow.”   
  


There was no movement, and Arthur sighed, turning to face the assembled bluebloods. Percival concentrated on not getting sick over the king’s shoes, nausea rising up in his gut, stomach churning. 

_ “Tomorrow,  _ Councilmen. Not today.” Arthur nodded to the guards that shadowed his footsteps, and they stepped forward, polished weapons brandished in a clear message. The noblemen went, unhappily.

“Perc, you look awful!” Arthur was peering into Percival’s face. The big man tried to step back, out of range, but nearly lost his balance as his body warned him of imminent collapse.

“Bohrs, Kay, help me get him to his chambers. Not a word of this to anybody, do you hear me?” The two men nodded solemnly and strapped their spears down, each big burly man taking one of Percival’s arms and wrapping it around their own shoulders.

“Perc, you big idiot, what’ve you done to yourself now?” Bohrs asked, eyeing Percival’s pale face and clenched lips. 

Kay noticed the blood crusting on the hand he had slung around himself, and added, “Fuck’s sake, Percy, why do you look like you’ve gone a few rounds with a bear?”

Percival, just managing to keep his feet underneath him, smiled miserably and murmured,  _ “Kaboom!”  _

“That’s it, he’s lost it.” Bohrs said to Kay, who nodded.

“Gone stark raving mad, I’m afraid.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and muttered, “Why do you two always end up on duty together?”

Bohrs grinned cheerfully, adjusting Percival’s arm and taking more of his weight as the man leaned more heavily into him. “To drive  _ you _ mad, of course!”

Arthur shook his head, a smile playing about his lips. “Of course.” 

His eyes fell to his hands, which were gloved, and the smile dropped. He strode forward, ahead of the small group, and found a knight passing by on guard patrol.

“Find Alcott and tell him to be prepared to receive his knight.” Miller nodded and hurried off. 

Arthur danced nervously in place for a moment, feet shuffling as he bit his lip, trying to make a decision. Bohrs and Kay kept up a stream of chatter behind him. 

“Percival, how many times have I gotta tell you? Don’t drink that shite at the Blue Moon-it’ll leave you chasing fairies and kissing tree sprites!”

“Leave him alone, yeah? Man’s about to pass out, and you’re lecturing him on his drinking habits?”

Arthur ignored them and noticed his hands clutched tightly to the left side of his chest. He threw them down with a disgusted huff and stalked ahead of the group, shouting over his shoulder, “Pick up the pace, would you?”

Bohrs looked at Kay, Percival hanging between them. “What’s on with him?”

Kay shrugged. “Mayhap  _ he  _ had too much to drink at the Blue Moon.”

Arthur tried to keep his strides short and clipped, but his mind was racing. What had  _ happened?  _ Where was Gaius? There was no chance he would have allowed Percival to leave looking this awful. He stopped short, leaving Bohrs and Kay to halt abruptly, Percival nearly tumbling down. Percival groaned in abject misery and Bohrs patted him sympathetically on the back.

“There, there, you great lump, we’ll have you back soon.”

Arthur’s hands rose to his chest, and he absentmindedly rubbed at a spot just below his left collarbone. He made a snap decision, and turned to face the three knights, two redfaced and one far too pale.

“I have to go see Gaius.” 

Kay exchanged a look with Bohrs. “Alright, then.” 

He nodded to the knight hanging limpy between them. “What do we do with him, then?”

Arthur shook his head. “You two go on ahead with Percival. I am going to go fetch Gaius, I mean. I don’t need Gaius. Why would I need Gaius? If anyone needs Gaius it’s-” 

Here he broke off, realising he was stammering and stumbling over his words. 

“Sire, perhaps it’s best if you wait until we’ve gotten old Percy here back to his quarters. Nice and cosy, like.” Kay said slowly, hefting a large arm tighter around his shoulders.

“No.” Arthur said firmly. “I am the king of Camelot and I am more than capable of walking around my own castle without minders. Ensure Percival gets to his chambers,” here he lowered his voice and glanced around, “and tell  _ no one  _ of anything he says. Regard it all as delirious nonsense. Tell Alcott to get a meal up for him. A good, hearty one.”

He strode off, ignoring the way the two conscious men gaped at his back. From behind him, he heard, “Well, that’s just rude, innit?”

“Hush, you’re not one to talk. Remember the time you-”

Once out of sight of Bohrs and Kay, Arthur broke into a full-on sprint, heart pounding and mind racing. 

_ Had Merlin woken up?  _

_ Did he remember? _

Maids scattered out of his way and more than one nobleman tried to catch his attention but Arthur kept up the pace. 

_ A king doesn’t quicken his pace for anyone, Arthur. It isn’t befitting of your station.  _

Long-healed scars burst to life, itching like mad, but Arthur ignored them. His hands, encased in soft white kid leather, were sweaty and felt gross, but he bunched them up and kept going.

Finally, he came skidding to a stop just three corridors away from Gaius’s chambers and the physician quarters. He couldn’t be seen dashing to Gaius, someone would get nosy and send someone to go investigating. The last thing he needed were court spies looking too closely into Merlin. 

Arthur’s hands rose once again, unbidden, to his chest, where they stayed put, mind racing and head whirling. He did his best to appear nonchalant, though his face was no doubt red from the exertion and his posture was tense despite his best efforts.

He nodded at people as they passed by, grateful there were fewer nobles living in this older portion of the castle. Their servants, more likely to be the ones doing the intrigue work, lived closer to their masters in the newer portions. 

The servants in this section were mostly launderesses and kitchen maids, perhaps butter makers at best. They would count themselves grateful for a simple nod from the king and would not be of interest to the noblemen, who considered anyone lower than a personal chambermaid too dirty to associate with.

Within a mere few minutes, far too long and yet so short, Arthur was standing outside Gaius’s chambers. He held his hand to the door to knock, but the flash of white leather, still so unusual, made him hesitate. He stood there, hesitating, until finally he gathered his courage and stepped inside.

The room was warm, he noticed, a large fire blazing in the hearth and a pot no doubt filled with simple broth bubbling away. Books were stacked haphazardly on every available surface, and there was a distinct medicinal, green smell interspersing with the musty pages and sharp bite of wood smoke. 

His eyes wandered around the room until he stopped short in his tracks. Gwen and Merlin were curled up on the small bed together, his head buried in her shoulder, her hand stroking smoothly over his back. They were talking quietly amongst themselves, Gwen murmuring to him and Merlin listening with eyes closed, nodding or shaking his head as the question apparently required.

There were obvious tear tracks on Merlin’s face, and even Gwen looked haggard, eyes red-rimmed and lips pursed tightly. Arthur cleared his throat, feeling awkward and unsure.

Merlin’s eyes snapped open to meet Arthur’s. His eyes got impossibly wider and they started shimmering again as tears rose. 

Arthur backed up, hands up and in the air. “I didn’t come to-I just wanted to-I-” He stammered.

Gwen took pity on him. She leaned down and said something quietly into Merlin’s ear. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. She slid elegantly off the bed, rustling her skirts back into position, and pulled a blanket over Merlin’s shoulders, tucking him in and pressing a kiss to his head. 

Arthur’s throat felt tight, all of a sudden.  _ He _ had caused this, all of this grief and pain. 

_ It is your birthright to slay those destined to bring evil into our borders, Arthur, and magic users are the worst of the worst. _

He felt tears rise, unwanted, to his own eyes, and he blinked them away ruthlessly. Now was  _ not  _ a time to grieve his own errors, lapses in judgements, ruthless and cruel behaviour. He had no right to grief, save for the lives he had taken and destroyed.

Merlin looked...he looked so  _ small,  _ though Arthur knew his manservant was at least of level height. He lacked the thick pads of muscle Arthur had, though, and had shot up so rapidly in the past couple of years that he had somewhat of a stretched out appearance.

Even that, though, had faded in the last months as he finally stopped growing so quickly with access to proper nutrition and adequate amounts of food. Before they’d gone off on their ill-fated monitoring quest, Arthur had been admiring how…...filled in Merlin was looking. He had thought quite suddenly as his manservant had been bent over, rummaging through the saddlebags before fastening them on the horses, that he’d have to give Merlin a new allowance for clothes. His trousers had become…...quite fitted in some very charming areas. Merlin had been completely oblivious to his staring as he’d cheerfully whistled an off-key tune. 

Now in the present, Arthur cursed himself. Merlin lacked any of the pleasant roundness in his features that had been so admirable to the king. He was so thin, no doubt from the fever and prodigious usage of magic, Arthur reflected. Surely that kind of explosive power was not a common thing. He’d executed enough sorcerers to know that, if they’d had that raw energy, many more cell doors would have been blown off their hinges.

“-thur?” Gwen was speaking to him. Arthur blinked and she was suddenly right in front of him, hands reaching for his shoulders. 

He flinched back. “What?”

Gwen looked at him with one of her deep, empathetic stares. The understanding he found in her eyes made him want to cry all over again. 

“Arthur, why are you here?” Gwen asked softly, taking the hands he hadn’t realised he’d clutched to his chest in her own, stroking the supple leather of the gloves with a look of pain on her kind face.

“I-I-” He stammered out, watching the way Merlin’s shoulders bowed inwards at every sound he made, how he was practically  _ trembling in fear,  _ just by Arthur’s presence. 

Arthur pulled one hand out of Gwen’s and tried running it through his hair. Like every other time he’d tried, the leather, soft as it was, still caught at the strands, tugging unpleasantly. He cleared his throat and found his voice.

“I need to talk to him, Gwen.” He said quietly, eyes meeting hers and then dropping to the floor.

Gwen pursed her lips, twisting her mouth and turning to look at Merlin, who looked back at her upon hearing those words, true terror in his eyes. She hesitated. 

“Arthur, I don’t know if-” She was cut off.

“Please, Gwen.” Arthur looked as if he was on the verge of tears, something she’d seen perhaps twice in all the years she’d known him, and Gwen softened, relenting.

“Alright. But you have to ask him. I’m not his keeper, Arthur.” The tone was gentle but a clear rebuke.

Arthur paled. “No, of course not. He’s free to do as he pleases! I would never imprison him-I would never-would never-” His words came out stuttered once again, and he fought back a hot flood in his eyes. He  _ would not cry,  _ damnit it all to hell.

Gwen shushed him and swept over gracefully to Merlin’s bedside. She bent her head to his, and a furious, whispered conversation started up. 

Arthur stood there, unsure of what to do, worrying his lip between his teeth.

Finally, there was an apparent decision made. Gwen kissed the crown of Merlin’s head and whispered something into his ear. He nodded, though Arthur could still see the fear in his eyes.

Gwen came back to Arthur, a worried look on her face but resolution in the set of her shoulders. 

“You may go speak with him.” 

He hardly breathed as he nodded frantically, terrified of making a wrong move and shattering the fragile peace to bits.

As she passed the doorway, though, Arthur remembered what had started this whole affair. “Gwen,” he called out, “could you find Gaius and ask him to check on Percival? He did not look well when I found him stumbling in the halls.”

Gwen paused. She turned to him, and Arthur could see murder in her eyes. “You mention this  _ now,  _ Arthur?”

He winced. “Sorry.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose and gave him a level stare. Then she swept away dramatically, skirts billowing out the door. “Yes, I will go find Gaius. You have limited time, Arthur. Use it wisely.”

He nodded firmly, feeling very much like a chastised pup. Then, Arthur heaved a sigh, turning to face Merlin. 

The king walked softly over to where Merlin was huddling in his bed, stopping when he saw the set of the manservant’s shoulders.

He shuddered and Arthur retracted his arms from where they’d begun to reach out, desperate to hold and soothe and  _ protect _ . Instead, the king pulled out the stool to a comfortable distance and sat down heavily.

“Merlin.” The lump of blankets shivered and two blue eyes peered at him suspiciously. 

Arthur shook his head, wishing he could run his fingers through the strands, tug on them, do  _ anything.  _ The gloves made it impossible, though, and so instead he twined his hands together, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.

He tried again. 

“Merli-” His voice cracked, and Arthur was suddenly beset by a flood of tears. Hot guilt and shame rushed through him, and stabs of deep self-loathing cut into his heart, flaying it into ribbons. He wept there, on the stool, shoulders shuddering rapidly and breath getting shallower and more frantic. 

Though Arthur couldn’t see it, Merlin had emerged from his blanket cocoon when he heard Arthur’s cries. He looked down at the king, who was nearly bent double over with the force of his tears. Something in his chest tore as he watched the man he’d protected, guarded, watched over for  _ years  _ be torn apart himself. He knew better than anyone the weight Arthur carried on his shoulders, how deeply he felt his emotions. He  _ knew  _ Arthur, and so did his magic. Where he kept back, unsure and still afraid, his magic rushed out to its limits, begging to be set free, to comfort and soothe. 

Merlin pulled it back, gathering what limited energy he could muster in the palms of his hands, just in case, for a last-ditch desperate attempt at protection. He hoped to the gods he wouldn’t need it. He sat up fully, wincing as ribs protested, and scooted to the edge of the bed, long legs dangling. The warlock leaned forward to the man who’d encompassed his entire being for so long, and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Ar-Arthur,” Merlin coughed, his chest screaming at him and body telling him to remain flat, “Sire, let’s talk.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my chickadees. I so hope you are all doing well and remaining safe. Here is another chapter, and it's a long one! I know, I know, Percy didn't quite get the help he needed, but Arthur decided it was high time to figure all this out. Merlin is still awfully scared, of course, but everything in him is straining to protect the man he was destined to care for. Don't worry, our gentle giant will be fine, but finally we are making progress on the Arthur/Merlin front! We'll check back in with everyone soon enough, don't worry, but I hope you enjoy this update.
> 
> In other news, I found the comet NEOWISE tonight. Wow, it is late. Why do I always update at such late (or early, I suppose) times of night? In any case, I kept thinking about how, somewhere in the galaxy (isn't that such a beautiful word? I keep a list of words I like), there just might be someone else on another planet looking at them, too. I want to meet someone from another planet! Extra-terrestrial lifeforms just must be so incredible. I love our planet, it's so marvelous. Still, what if we could literally reach out and touch the stars, meet the people living amongst them?
> 
> That's probably why I got into all of these sci-fi/fantasy shows, if I'm being honest. The original Star Trek series really just made my mind explode with possibilities. All of the best what ifs....Merlin drew me in for the same reason. It's the same premise, really. People who have power and see themselves as superior will always fight against what they see as challenges to that power, regardless of whether it's for magic or extra-terrestrials (that's so much nicer and more fun to say than 'aliens,' in my personal opinion).....or even for ourselves. I kept thinking tonight about how well-designed so many animals are-sharks, for instance. Their design hasn't changed very much in many millions of years. They're perfect. Orca whales are so sleek and powerful and breathtakingly intelligent (some neuroscientists believe they have the same intellect we do!). Even the humble termite has a specific place in this world.
> 
> We as humans have such a gift. We are very adaptable and can move with ease. We aren't regulated to the ocean, or to mounds, or to....anywhere, really. What a shame it seems that we use our abilities to harm others when we have so much power. We're so afraid of others taking our power from us that we can't see the beauty right in front of our faces. An oversimplification, certainly, but I have to wonder what we can accomplish if we learn to let go of our fear. I'm by no means an exception, as much of what I do is ruled by fear. Fear of death, fear of failure, fear of irrelevancy or of not making an impact on the world. 
> 
> Still......maybe if all of us can let go of one thing that scares us, we can have more time to dedicate towards kindness. One of the things I loved about the premise of Star Trek was that the base ideology of the Federation was exploration, but with a deep and abiding kindness. Of course, some of that premise was rather shaken by exploratory ships having weapons of mass power and devastation, but......it was such a human thing, that juxtaposition, that it gives me faith we can make things better. I don't know if we can make everything perfect, but we can, we have the power to make things better. 
> 
> My father, who I've mentioned before, once told me something that I've never forgotten. He said to me, "If every person in the world did one act of kindness to a stranger just once a day, the world would be a much happier place." 
> 
> Not everyone will choose to be kind. Not everyone will choose the path that causes the least harm. It's exhausting being kind when the world is cruel, but there is great power in kindness. Many people see vulnerability in kindness. It does make you open, it does make you open to critiques. I have to believe, I do believe that it's worth it. There is no greater power that I can think of than giving kindness to a person simply because you can, simply because you have that power. What a great and awe-some gift that is, don't you think? 
> 
> I have such belief in all of you. Hold strong where the world bites at you and be soft in moments of love and care. If you ever need to talk, or want to talk, or want to ramble on about whatever you find interesting, find me on Tumblr at LivingInATimeOf-Myths.
> 
> Be well and be happy, my friends. We have the world at our fingertips, and what a beautiful one it is. Stay safe. <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, just a bit earlier than the usual update, but I felt the juices, my friends! In the words of the immortal John "Hannibal" Smith: "I love it when a plan comes together!"
> 
> I do so hope you enjoy this chapter. It made me smile, so here's hoping it does that for you, too.

Arthur went totally, entirely still as he felt the pressure on his shoulder, the warmth radiating from Merlin’s hand. Terrified of moving too quickly, of scaring Merlin away, he raised his head, keeping his eyes down firmly on the floor. His hands clasped together brutally, the leather making a small sound of protest as seams were stretched to their limits. His body practically hummed with the sudden tension in his limbs and his jaw locked, sending small waves of pain thrilling down his neck and spine. Still, he didn’t dare move.

Merlin studied the man in front of him. Arthur’s shoulders were tense, stiff and hard, and there were glistening trails where tears had tracked down his face. The blue eyes he dreamt of in his sleep were stubbornly fixed on the floor, and Merlin had to wonder whether that was a comment on how Arthur felt about him, or if he was ashamed of the crying…...or of something else. Hope, a fragile, fluttering thing, took wing in his chest, despite Merlin’s best attempt to stuff it back into its box. His magic hummed at him, begging to be let loose through the powerful conduits in his hands, to envelop Arthur as it had done so many times since they’d first met. A living being in its own right, Merlin had to _will_ it back into submission, to remind it of their partnership. It didn’t accept that explanation as easily as it once might have, though, and a clear image of a million pieces of shattered wood filled his mind. 

With no small amount of effort, Merlin pulled the magic back into his own body, the endeavour, tiny as it might have been once upon a time, thoroughly exhausted him. The magic went totally quiet as a wave of pain racked Merlin’s body, his ribs crying out and every fiber of his being cramping. He hadn’t been entirely sure, when he’d first woken up, of just how badly he’d overextended himself in that clearing, but here was clear proof.

He knew of just how dangerous it was, letting loose that amount of magic without focusing it into a spell or channeling it through the proper release points of his body, but he’d never been given quite so thorough a warning. Every part of him was in pain, spasms running up and down his back, and even his little toes curling up at the wave. The magic that also called his body home immediately rushed forward to help, soothing the sharp, biting aches and pains into a dull throb. Merlin knew, though, that this was merely a bandage that would exhaust his energy reserves more than assist in healing, that the best thing to do was to rest and not allow his magic any reign, but this conversation _needed_ to happen. 

He was so _tired_ of being afraid. There was nothing left in him to deal with the terror that had so entirely taken over his life. If he was going to die, he would face it with pride in what he’d accomplished. He would tell Arthur exactly how he’d watched over him, protected him at every turn and twist, how he’d sacrificed it all just for the love and care of his king. The greatest king Camelot would ever know. 

Anger rose in his gut. After everything, after _giving_ _everything_ for this man, how could Arthur turn around and just…..Merlin enjoyed the heat of the anger for a long moment, until he looked down at Arthur’s face, ready to let loose, and Arthur looked back. Two pairs of blue eyes met, one filled with rage, and the other wracked with grief, tears glittering in the corners and dropping down to slide down the king’s face. Arthur flinched back at the look on his servant’s face, so full of betrayal and rage and…...something he didn’t want to acknowledge as near _hatred._ He bowed his head.

“I am _so_ sorry.” Arthur choked out, fighting back a violent sob that threatened to rip his chest apart. “I know it doesn’t _begin_ to cover what I’ve _done_ , but I am _so, so sorry,_ Merlin. I-” 

He pinched his lips together and his shoulders hunched forward, shaking. His hands rose to his hair, a nervous tic Merlin had teased him a hundred times over for in the past, and the warlock noticed a pair of new, white leather gloves. 

A memory rushed forward in bits and pieces, shadowy and blurry, but clear enough. Merlin had _healed_ Arthur’s hands, why were they encased in gloves?

“What happened to your hands?” Merlin blurted out, head cocked, turmoil forgotten for a brief instant. Arthur’s head snapped up, and, despite his earlier resolution to be strong and full of fire, Merlin leaned back. Despite everything, he was still afraid of Arthur. No matter how powerful he might have been once, his ability to channel magic was weak at the moment, taxed beyond reasonable limits. 

Arthur looked at his hands and his expression wilted even further. He soundlessly took them off, bunching up the fine, soft leather and dropping them on the ground. Slowly, he extended his hands out to Merlin, who peered suspiciously at them before deciding to accept the offering. 

Merlin took them in his own hands, noting how soft the skin was, how damp they were from the thick leather, and turned them over and over again. He couldn’t see one area of flaw. Even the scar Arthur had gotten when Merlin had bumped into him one night while carving the king’s capon had disappeared. A sudden wave of sadness clutched Merlin’s throat.

Before the impromptu healing session, Arthur’s hands had been littered with scars and marks, many from their adventures and mishaps. There had been one from the bar fight where they’d first met Gwaine, another one where Arthur had been cut by rocks as he’d fought and climbed to get the flower that would heal his manservant, cementing their relationship for the first time. Still another one had been the day Arthur had forgotten to make sure Hengroen blew out a breath before cinching tight, and had landed hands-first in the rocky mud. Merlin had laughed for _hours,_ and for some reason, Arthur had broken into a smile, too, flinging mud and earth as Merlin had dodged the attacks.

All of this history, a map of _their story,_ was just…...gone. Merlin knew he was being silly, but a fat tear rolled down his face and he was gone, blubbering away at what had been and what could have been. 

Arthur panicked, withdrawing his hands quickly and pulling them to his chest. “I know, I _know,_ I’m so sorry, please don’t cry.”

He looked down at his left palm, where the tiniest blister had risen up, the soft, baby-like skin non-callused and unused to handling even a quill. Arthur raised his hands to show Merlin, almost an offering. “Look, it’s so small, I promise it will heal! It’ll go away and be perfect again!”

Merlin stopped hiccuping for long enough to peer at Arthur and ask, _“What?”_

Arthur paused in his shuffling for a handkerchief, rustling through his clothes, desperate to stop Merlin’s cries while he ignored his own wet face. 

“You nearly _killed yourself_ over these and I couldn’t, I didn’t stop you, and now they’re _ruined-”_ Yet again, in a pattern Arthur was becoming despairingly used to, tears spilled out from his eyes and his throat seized up. 

Merlin hopped off the bed, stumbling for a brief instant, heart in his throat, before he recovered well enough and sank to his knees beside his king. He bent his head in perfect submission, a servant in the truest sense of the word for the first time, nearly meek with the strength of his fear. 

“Arthur,” he said quietly, heart beating fit to burst out of his chest, “it has never been anything less than my greatest honour to watch over you.”

Arthur looked down at the man who had slowly but surely become his entire world, gaping rather unbecomingly.

Merlin saw the expression on his face as he lifted his head and blanched, stammering out, “I-I never wanted _anything_ but the best for you, you have to believe me, I’m so sorry. I never intended for it to be this way, I just wanted to protect you, to keep you safe-to make you feel less alone-to-”

Arthur crashed to his knees beside Merlin, grasping the warlock’s shoulders and pulling him in tightly, clutching him to his chest, desperate to touch and soothe and care for. The king shook his head wildly as he tucked Merlin’s to his collarbones, the servant going willingly, melting in his embrace as Arthur had only once dreamt he would, in the privacy and protection of his own, darkened chambers. 

“I _know,_ Merlin.” Arthur shuddered, the shine of his sword as it headed for Merlin’s throat all too clear a memory, “There are-I have _no words_ for how sorry I am.”

“You have, since the first day you stumbled into Camelot, big ears and all,” Merlin laughed in Arthur’s arms, mouth turning up and eyes sparkling once again, and Arthur felt dumbstruck, “done nothing but make me a better man.”

Merlin squirmed a little, and Arthur loosened his grip, mindful of the warlock’s ribs. The man glanced up at Arthur shyly, through long black lashes and murmured, almost too quiet to be heard, “Well, you _are_ a prat.”

Arthur grinned back at him, relief singing a song of joy in his heart, sparks of heat and something he could now name as riotous _love_ taking flight, beating against the confines of his body. “Aye, and a royal one at that.”

Merlin’s laugh startled the pigeons roosting on Gaius’s windows, and they took off. Arthur was _lost,_ but found himself once again as he held the most irritating, absurd, wondrous, _marvelous_ man he’d ever met to his broad chest. Merlin relaxed in his arms, sighing his little sound of contentment and Arthur was free at last.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.....perhaps some of you were hoping for a bit more of the problems to be worked out in this chapter, but I felt it necessary for just the basic forgiveness to be established. They are both so raw, still, and I thought they needed to come to terms with the most basic of problems-the bare bones of their relationship and where it stands, if you will. Plus, I really wanted Merlin and Arthur to have a good hug. I promise that I will not leave the ironing out to behind-the-scenes, as it drives me mad when writers choose to do that, but this chapter was all about renewal. Another one, I should think, will be about building from these new foundations. Plus, we have to check in on Leon and Gwaine, and find out what Percival is up to (hopefully snoring his head off, but we'll see), and then fix Gwaine and Merlin's relationship, plus Leon and Merlin and the cape......we are winding to a close, but still a few chapters off! Hopefully none of you have gotten bored! 
> 
> Just a short note tonight (well, they're never short, so I wouldn't recommend holding your breath), as I must get some solid rest for once. I've said before that I don't care for 'faith.' I don't mean in terms of religion, as that is an entirely personal choice that I have no business interfering with, but in terms of blind following. I was writing Merlin and thinking about his faith in Arthur. I may have reevaluated my stance on faith. Merlin's faith in Arthur is built on years of love (whether platonic or romantic or sexual or what-have-you) and a firm knowledge of Arthur himself. I never want to give the impression that you should not reach out to those around you because having faith in people is useless. Rather, I want to say that we should hold faith, faith in ourselves and in those we know we can trust. Not everyone has earned one's trust, and not everyone is capable of being trusted. That being said, hope is the foundation on which faith can be built, not the be-all and end-all of life. If hope is the flame in the darkness, faith is the delicate flower that blooms once one has found good soil and an adequate supply of water and sunlight. 
> 
> Hope is hard to crush, faith, less so. Both have their place in this world. Please remember to take care of yourselves. You are all so wonderful and I have real faith in your abilities to care for yourselves and to extend that care to the rest of the world. We've only got this planet and each other in this life, oughtn't we make the best of it? Again, if you ever want to talk, or to ramble, or to gush or vent or cry or laugh or anything, I am open to being contacted via Tumblr. I'm no ancient, wise being of immense...anything (except perhaps for cheek, when the occasion calls for it :D), but I do have an open heart and, hopefully, an open mind. I know how scary it is outside and how hard it is for flowers to bloom in times of floods, but stay strong, my dear ones, stay strong. <3 <3 <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, longer than 14 days, sorry. Started a new and temporary job before uni begins again as I'm trying to save some to set aside and some to pay off my bills. Still, here is a new chapter! I so hope you are all well and safe. Not my best work, but it's got Leon and Gwaine talking, so that's good, yeah?

Gwaine blinked, eyes opening and head pounding. He groaned as he pushed himself off the mattress, ribs screaming and mouth dry. A wave of nausea washed over him and he clenched his eyes shut, half off the bed, and shut his mouth tightly, determined not to empty his stomach on the bed. No doubt the laundress would alert Leon of whatever shenanigans he’d gotten up to last night and then he’d get yet _another_ lecture on ‘the proper behaviour and protocol of a Knight of Camelot, Gwaine, are you even _listening to me?’_

“Not feeling so well, yeah?” 

A voice came out of nowhere in the blackness of his shut eyes, and Gwaine fumbled for a sword that wasn’t attached to his hip, then, overbalancing, landed on the floor with a sad thump. The nausea threatened to overwhelm him, then, as his ribs protested the brutal treatment and his head tried to take flight off his shoulders. He curled up in a miserable ball and whispered,

“Leon. _Kill me._ ” 

The impassioned plea fell on unsympathetic ears and Gwaine felt a pair of strong (had Leon _always_ been that….muscular?) hands grasp under his arms and help him sit upright. 

“No, I don’t think so. We’ve got quite a bit to talk about first.” 

Something cool and metal touched his nose, and Gwaine opened his eyes cautiously, wincing at the small amount of light that came through the drawn curtains. There was a goblet filled with water thrust up in his face. He leaned against the mattress behind him and accepted it, looking up into Leon’s face.

The taller man looked tired, drawn and worn out. There was a distinct _pinched_ quality surrounding his eyes that Gwaine ignored, knowing full well from personal experience that it was an expression which rarely harboured good intent towards Gwaine.

Gwaine downed the goblet of water in one go, sighing in blissful relief as the cool water soothed the ache in his throat. His eyes felt crusty and red, and he reached up to scratch at them. As he rubbed his eyes, he felt how hot they were, how sticky his cheeks were. Everything rushed back to him in a flash of heat, shame flooding his cheeks and humiliation burning deep in his gut.

Leon had dragged his sorry arse back to his chambers after Gwaine had snotted all over him while bawling like a whining child. Fuck, how could he ever expect Leon to respect or even _trust_ him again? Gwaine hunched in a bit, feeling totally drained and more than a bit like a deflated water bladder. Seeing no other option other than putting on a show of bravado and swagger (and he was far too tired and spent for that), he looked up miserably into Leon’s eyes. The taller knight was hovering over him, hands fluttering towards Gwaine.

Probably in case he tried passing out in his own sick or something. Leon was a mate like that, Gwaine reflected bitterly. He cleared his throat painfully, wincing at the soreness, and met Leon’s eyes, saying,

“I’m sorry, Leon. You didn’t need to see all that.” Shame rose up in his gut and Gwaine didn’t fight it, tired and more than ready to embrace a session of self-flagellation. He dropped his head down and closed his eyes, ready for the mother of all lectures.

Leon knelt in front of him, and tipped his head up, tucking a strand of hair behind Gwaine’s ear with remarkable tenderness. He took the goblet out of Gwaine’s hands and placed it to the side.

“Gwaine,” he said softly, “you’re wrong. I _did_ need to see that. You’ve been suffering and killing yourself quietly while I turned my back. You’ve been running without anyone by your side for far too long.”

Gwaine sniffled, feeling ridiculous as tears pricked at his eyes.

“No,” he argued back, “I’m _fine._ Just the resident tosspot, yeah?” 

He tried for a reassuring, charming smile, but whatever Leon saw on his face made him pinch his lips together, shaking his head.

“No,” Leon said gently, “you have done nothing but be a loyal friend and defender. We have left you to deal with all of this,” he gestured around, “by yourself while we struggle through it ourselves. _We_ created this problem, not you, yet we’ve left you to handle it yourself.”

Gwaine dropped his eyes to the ground, reminded of the betrayal he had felt as Arthur and his company had _turned_ on Merlin, on him by extension. He’d made his choice and he was steadfast in it, but he’d felt so _lost_ as his world turned topsy-turvy. 

“I-I thought that I’d lost you all.” He whispered, hands rising to clutch at his ribs. His voice grew higher in pitch as he continued,

“I didn’t know what to do-where to go-where to turn-who to look to,” Gwaine squeezed his eyes shut as he went on, missing Leon’s increasingly troubled look, “I thought we were going to die there, me and Merlin, because I _knew_ I didn’t have the strength to fight all of you off.”

Once started, Gwaine seemed incapable of cutting off his words, the pace growing faster as he confessed,

“I thought we were going to die there, alone and unwanted and _rotting_ on the forest floor and-” he started hiccuping painfully as his head pounded and tears broke loose from his eyes to streak down his face. He recognised the oncoming signs of panic fast approaching and tried to slow down his breathing, but to no avail. 

Once started, there was no stopping it, and he tried to push Leon away, gasping out a desperate, 

“Leave! Go _away_!” and gesturing towards the door frantically. The older man grabbed his hands in his own, rubbing them firmly, and settled in next to Gwaine on the floor, legs folded awkwardly underneath him. 

“It’s ok. Let it out, Gwaine.” 

Gwaine cursed at him breathlessly, hunching his shoulders in and setting his jaw, broken gasps escaping him despite his best efforts. Panic stole his breath and he coughed hard, wheezing as he tried to take in enough air. Half-delirious from the pain and hysteria, he panted out,

“Fuck. If-If...Mum could….see….me now.” 

An image of his mother rose to mind as he last saw her, face red and swollen from tears, an angry flush on her cheeks, dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she came at him with her little knife, drunk and screaming fit to wake the dead. Well, not all the dead.

Desperate to distract Gwaine from the frenzy of hysteria clouding his mind and seizing his lungs, Leon grabbed onto that little sentence, pulling Gwaine closer to him, hips touching, and asked, 

“What was your mother like?”

Gwaine, chest stuttering as he struggled for a clear breath, stared at him, eyes wide and conflicted. Leon knew he was pushing. Gwaine _never_ spoke about his family, and if questioned, either deflected or turned it into a long rant about the evils of nobility. The knights had long since learned to avoid the questions and let Gwaine’s past remain a mystery. Gwaine himself chattered on about every single thing else in the world, up to and including his opinions on thumbs (very useful but easy to slice off) and his long-held theory that owls were in fact spies for the spirits and fae. Beyond that, Gwaine was tight lipped. His rich brogue that slipped through now and again (despite his best efforts) was proof he wasn’t of Camelot’s borders, and his laissez-faire attitude towards magic was further proof he had come a long distance in his journeys. 

“She was beautiful.” Gwaine said finally.

Afraid of breaking the moment and noticing with relief that Gwaine was slowly stopping gasping for breath in favour of a more even and level breathing pattern, Leon tipped his head back onto the mattress behind him, closing his eyes, and asked, 

“What did she look like?”

He could feel Gwaine relax a fraction beside him as Leon’s eyes were no longer on him. Gwaine copied Leon’s example with a touch less grace as he slumped painfully, head rolling to press his face into the linen sheet, the cool cloth soothing his pounding head. Face pushed into the mattress, the words came out muffled.

“They always said I looked just like her when she was younger, before the drink took her. Her skin was darker than mine,” Gwaine lifted a hand to his cheek, “but her hair was rich as sable and fell down her back like tumbles of water.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and Leon itched to pull him close as tears welled to the corner of Gwaine’s eye. He remained still, though, as Gwaine went on,

“She had the most wonderful smile. It could make you feel warm again even when it was frigid outside and we had no fuel for our fire.”

Leon thought with a smile how that trait had been passed down to her son, how warm inside he felt when Gwaine beamed at him, tossed an arm around his shoulders and pulled him tight.

The younger man shook for an instant, fighting to keep his composure. “I can’t remember what colour her eyes were, only that they were black with hatred when she tried to kill me.”

The taller knight beside him shifted, and Gwaine could hear the barely restrained curiosity in his voice as he asked, 

“She tried to kill you?”

Gwaine snapped back, anger surging high, “ _You_ tried to kill me. What’s the difference?”

Leon flinched back, face growing pale and guilt twisting in his gut. Gwaine was right. What right did he have to ask any question except to beg forgiveness? He thought of Gwaine’s face as their blades had struck together, the fierceness in his eyes, the desperation as Gwaine tried fighting Leon and watching to protect Merlin. He thought of how Gwaine had launched to his feet the instant he’d become conscious after the second blast of magic, how he’d stumbled for several yards before righting himself and taking off into the forest. 

“I-” Leon hesitated, unsure of what to say. The man next to him had fought so desperately for the ideals Leon himself was meant to embody while Leon played little soldier boy to the hatred Uther had instilled in him for a decade. 

The younger knight slumped, his energy draining fast, too tired and feeling too wrung out to keep up the heat of anger. Gwaine sighed, and straightened, the back of his head now supported by the mattress and his hands twisting together miserably.

“It was my own fault. I didn’t realise at the time, but I...I-”

Leon watched as Gwaine dissolved in front of his eyes, all the defences he’d built up crumbling down, shoulders shaking painfully with sobs that tore loose from his chest. He wept like Leon had never seen before, like he would just disintegrate away if someone didn’t collect his pieces together. Leon could hear the edge of panic return to his gasps for breath, the hitching sound unpleasant and wet, forcing coughs out of Gwaine’s chest. The older man knew the pain must have been extraordinary, choking out with bruised or broken ribs, and made a decision. This conversation would have to wait or risk Gwaine’s health.

Leon shifted to his knees, then crouched and pulled at Gwaine’s arms, encouraging him to stand up. Shaky and confused, Gwaine did, not meeting Leon’s eyes, but standing on legs that looked like they were threatening to buckle beneath him. Leon led the smaller man around the side of the bed that was still neatly tucked in, pulling back the light woollen blanket and helping Gwaine to sit down on the mattress. 

“Wh-What are you doing?” Gwaine mumbled wetly, cheeks hot and shame suffusing his body. Once again, he’d cocked it up and all but _forced_ Leon to watch after him. The guilt tangled with the simmering anger still swirling inside him, fought with the deep and familiar sense of betrayal that told him to leave while he still could. It settled like a stone in his chest, threatening to pull him under.

Leon hushed him, then pulled off his own boots and climbed onto the mattress himself, the bed dipping under their combined weight. Leon’s mail glinted at him beckoningly from where he’d left it folded on the floor, but he ignored it. For the first time, there was nothing that the garb of a knight could do to help. Leon was on his own in this, free to act as he saw fit, and he intended to do so. He pulled a handkerchief out from the bag tied around his trousers, and handed it to Gwaine, who stared at it blankly. Sighing, Leon wiggled around until he was sitting right next to the smaller man, the differences in their height all the more apparent this close. He could see bits of debris still tangled in Gwaine’s hair, and resolved to find a chambermaid and have her draw a bath. First, though, more than a couple hours rest was in order. 

Leon reached forward, took the handkerchief back, and pulled Gwaine down until he was flat on the bed, head at Leon’s hip, body turned carefully to the side, legs already tangled in the sheet. Leaning over, the taller man pressed the cloth gently to Gwaine’s face, wiping away tears and sticky remnants of drink. The fine cloth came away wet and Gwaine’s face shone pink and his eyes were squeezed shut with what Leon could only interpret as shame. That wouldn’t do. He stretched himself out on the mattress and settled a hand on the head tucked next to his leg. 

“It’s ok to have help, Gwaine. There is no shame in it.” 

Gwaine shook, his body trembling, and Leon didn’t push it any further, just stroking the hair in long, repetitive movements, the soft touches soothing and gentle. He sat there, deep in thought, fingers playing in the hair and rubbing at the nape of the smaller man’s neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwaine and Leon, I thought, needed this. I wasn't terribly pleased with the way it came out, but their conversation isn't over. Every time I tried writing more, a block or a wall formed and it became more stilted than I liked it. Still, I do hope you enjoy it! Leon and Gwaine are not two people I'd honestly thought of as exceedingly compatible while watching Merlin on telly, but as I wrote, the more it made sense. Romantically or platonically or any -ally. They're good foils but have similar character strengths. Plus, I'm a sucker for both of the actors. 
> 
> Gwaine, I felt, would be angry still, and I didn't want that to just go away for convenience sake. Still, he's in an awful lot of pain and needs someone to turn to. Leon, as I've been thinking, is probably the most consistent figure in his life. Arthur is a tosser half the time and is running the kingdom (and Merlin follows him as he goes), the other knights are there most of the time, but I imagine most of the training he received specifically for the Knights of Camelot was through Leon directly, since they were both in Arthur's Company. It makes sense to me that they would have spent time together, Leon's slightly more reserved nature balancing out well with Gwaine's bravado. Gwaine is fast and sharp and Leon is calculated and watchful. Honestly, I love these two and I'm probably trying to justify this....whatever this is.
> 
> In any case, I sincerely hope you enjoyed this step towards healing. 
> 
> I am tired and not in a particularly philosophical mood this late at night, so I will leave you with this. Not one of us is perfect. I'm not, you aren't, and that person you follow on social media with twenty-thousand followers isn't, either. Perfection is boring. It stifles creativity and destroys diversity of thought and perspective. I am a person who obsesses over every flaw, every mistake, every awkward conversation. I tear things apart to look at them from new angles, which is useful in social sciences, but less useful when talking with people. I cannot strive for perfection in my life-it is exhausting. It's an impossible fantasy that is designed to make us feel as if we aren't good enough. Perfection is something created in a lab where everything can be controlled. Life is not controllable. I believe in striving for kindness, a much more achievable goal, and so much more beautiful when it flowers than perfection, especially when given the proper care it needs to thrive. 
> 
> I also ask for you to be kind to yourselves. None of us are beings of angelic grace or some such tosh. We are people, flesh and blood. We've got this one life to make a mark. Don't spend it carving tunnels into your heart. You deserve the world, and, hey! We live in the world! Those little voices of insecurity are powerful, but you are more powerful. You have the power to change the world, literally change the world, and they are only whispers in the wind. Show kindness to yourself while you give kindness to others and perhaps we can all make the world better for the future generations to come. 
> 
> I hope you are all well and safe. I appreciate you as an individual and as a person. <3


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, it's been well over a month!
> 
> Oh! A quick note-I don't specify what kind of treatment Sir Brinley gave our little Ainsley, mostly because I felt it better to allow one to determine for oneself what it was. Additionally, I didn't feel the need to specify because I was concerned it may be far too uncomfortable for some people to read and add very little to the story in return.

Elyan sat, quiet and very awkward, as he picked at the roast chicken set in front of him. His squire had his eyes firmly glued to the table and Elyan could see a fine tremor in his hands as he felt the knight appraise him. 

Elyan sighed, more than furious with himself. _Months_ of progress, of slow and careful coaxing, of reassurances and compliments and careful guidance, all for _nothing_. He set his goblet down, perhaps a touch too harshly, as Ainsley flinched like a startled rabbit. Wide eyes watched Elyan nervously. The knight saw his squire’s reaction and groaned, dropping his head into his hands and digging them in tightly, feeling his short nails dig harshly into his scalp. 

Eyeing thin shoulders that reminded him far too much of Merlin (yet rather than Merlin, Elyan saw Gwen’s furious face in his mind) and the delicate bones of the wrist Ainsley had wrapped around his chest, Elyan growled, “Eat.”

Ainsley shrunk further down into the chair, thick hair falling forward to cover his face. “Yes, Sir.”

He picked up a fork in a trembling hand, but it shook so wildly he dropped it on the table. The solid metal made a loud clanging sound as it impacted the wood, a sliver of the table chipping off as it did. Ainsley’s face went absolutely sheet white. With a loud screech of the chair, he flung himself onto the ground, hands and knees on the smooth marble, in a position he’d described to Elyan as one Sir Brinley had called ‘the penance position.’ 

Elyan had fucked up. Royally. He knew just what _Sir Brinley_ had required for his then-squire to be _forgiven_. Moving slowly and smoothly, Elyan pushed his chair back and kneeled onto the floor next to his squire. Thinking better of the position as he loomed, twice the size of Ainsley and taller as well, Elyan sat flat, crossing his legs. Beside him, the squire trembled.

“Ain- _Greysen,_ we’ve talked about this. I will _never_ require or ask this of you. _Never.”_ Thinking of how he’d behaved in the past hours, though, Elyan added, “I understand why you are afraid, though, and that’s _entirely_ my fault.”

There was no response from the boy next to him and Elyan bit his lip, unsure. Their relationship as knight and squire was still so new, less than a year, and there had been so much damage to undo from the previous knight. He didn’t know where their relationship lay, how to take back his words and actions, how to heal the hurt he’d caused. 

  
  


Elyan’s eyes fell on a mancala set. Unlike the one he and Gwen had played with as children, this one was of polished marble, hefty and solid. Its stones were not pebbles picked up from the streets but semiprecious gems, a colourful tumble of jet, amethyst, topaz and garnet. It was proudly displayed on the central table of his chambers, a gift from Gwen once he’d been knighted, affording both of them the taxes of several villages and lower towns. Elyan stood up slowly, watching how his squire’s back trembled with the force of his fear as he did so, and strode over to the table. He looked down at the set and cocked his head, considering.

  
  


“Ainsley, have you ever played mancala?” He called over his shoulder.

“No, Milord.” Came the quiet answer.

  
  


Elyan smiled, taking the game and sitting back down on the floor next to his squire. He reached out a hand. Ainsley took it, unsure, and Elyan helped him sit down properly.

“Let’s play, shall we? I’ll teach you the rules-it’s very simple. No doubt you’ll pick it up quickly.”

  
  


This position was the one Percival found them in several hours later as he barged into Elyan’s chambers.

He smashed through the doors, sending them flying open, crashing into the walls. Elyan winced-that would leave a mark. He looked up at Percival with wide eyes, a small bead of garnet clutched delicately between two fingers. Next to him, Ainsley, who had finally settled down as the competition of the game had intrigued him, flinched back hard, that gods-be-damned frightened rabbit look taking over his features.

Percival stormed over to the two, evidently not noticing the look of terror on the squire’s face, and Elyan squinted at him.

“Percival, what _on earth_ happened to your _face_?” 

A marvelous ring of dark bruising surrounded one eye and there was a welt rising on the tall knight’s left cheek. 

Percival wobbled just a bit, face paling for a brief instant, before catching his balance and scowling mightily down at Elyan. 

“Elyan, what possessed you-” Percival nearly collapsed then, and Elyan rose quickly, dropping the blood-red stone and catching one massive arm. 

“Whatever you’re on about-” Elyan paused, then added with a touch of guilty defiance- “and I suspect I know-can wait until you’ve sat down.”

The large man’s arm trembled violently under his own hands and he nodded, apparently too exhausted to argue much.

Elyan gestured for Ainsley’s help, then, remembering how far he had pushed the trust of his squire for one day, instead motioned him to pour a goblet of what he hoped would be restorative wine. Elyan all but manhandled the large man onto his own bed.

Once settled, Percival hung his head down and gulped in rapid breaths, lacing his hands around the back of his neck. Ainsley appeared next to Elyan, small body tense and face pinched, handing his knight the goblet, its silver lip shaped like a crown, before disappearing behind him. 

Elyan stood there helplessly for a moment. He’d never been good at this, had always run away whenever Gwen had cried, had left his family rather than continue the shouting matches with his father. He’d chosen the path he thought was best for himself for so long and now it was time for him to make another choice. This one, he hoped, eyeing the rich red liquid in the silver cup longingly, would be for the better. 

“Ainsley-run and find Gwen, would you?” Elyan asked his squire, who nodded rapidly, black hair a blur. The small boy bobbed and bowed, taking flight out into the corridor, door swinging to slam shut behind him.

Massaging his temples with one free hand, Elyan spared one more glance towards the wine and strode to the table, setting it down. It clattered warningly and for a moment the knight was afraid it would tip over. It settled down with nary but a splash out of place. 

“Percival,” Elyan started, suddenly exhausted beyond reason, “if you came here to pummel sense into me, I’m afraid Gwen tried that already.” 

He shifted his weight and moved closer to the bed, out of reach of the massive hands that currently cradled Percival’s head.

A snort, muffled but unmistakable, rose from the down-stuffed mattress. “Lady Guinevere _punched_ you?”

Elyan, despite himself, shook his head with a painful smile, raising one hand to his cheek, where a bruise had bloomed to the surface. “No, but she did cuff me about my ears well enough.”

Percival snickered, then fell silent. An uncomfortable tension filled the hushed air.

There was some rustling as Percival sat up straighter, the fatigue plain as day on his face, and asked hesitantly, “ _Why,_ Elyan?”

Elyan bit his lip and turned away, eyes falling once again on the goblet of wine, which had seemed so important just a few moments earlier. He shuffled towards the table, reaching to take a sip, when his hip bumped the wood and the goblet spilled, splashing ruby-rich liquid everywhere. Thick rivulets dripped towards the floor and the cup clattered to the floor noisily, its bowl dented in beyond repair, the detailed crown on its lip broken and bent.

Rather than fetching a cloth, Elyan collapsed into the nearest chair, staring at the wine dripping down his oak table, running through the floorboards and soaking into the Pendragon-adorned cloak he’d left crumpled on the hardwood. 

“I don’t know.” He admitted. 

Percival said nothing, watching him closely with intense eyes.

“At first,” Elyan began, watching the wine go _drip, drip, drip,_ “I thought it was because he’d lied to us for so long.” 

He shifted, folding his arms on the table. “I thought we were his friends! I’d thought-I’d thought we understood one another. I trusted him to do what was right.”

Percival still said nothing.

Elyan continued, “Then, then I thought…My father _died_ for the kind of evils Merlin had brought upon us all!” 

He ran a fingernail through the puddle of wine, admiring how the rich red shimmered in the low light. 

“Merlin…” Elyan coughed, and Percival leaned forward, for the first time hearing real emotion in his tone, “Merlin-you don’t just _get_ that kind of power overnight.”

His voice grew thick. “He must have been practicing for _years_ -Percival,” for the first time, Elyan outright addressed the other man, “you’ve seen this before. You _know_ it isn’t possible for this kind of magic to be acquired in a split second, no matter _how_ cursed a sorcerer may be!”

Percival conceded the point with a nod. Raw magic like that….it didn’t just spring out of nowhere. He rose shakily, then sank back down as a wave of dizziness took over him. Elyan didn’t seem to notice, continuing on, 

“He didn’t trust us with this, but expected us to trust our lives to him!” His voice rose to a near shout that had Percival wincing. “How could he betray us like this? My father-” Elyan rose, pacing wildly, boots splashing through the puddles of wine, “My father _was put to the stake_ and Merlin should just _get away with it?”_

An image of his father, kind and gentle and so caring it made Elyan want to weep, rose in his mind. He pulled his sword out of the scabbard lying on the table and charged the drapes, hacking at the expensive velvet monstrosities.

“How could he not trust me with it? How could he have consulted- _worked with sorcerers!?_ How could he have just _left us,_ left _Gwen_?”

The drapes were in tatters now, bits of fluff and lace flying everywhere. Elyan’s chest heaved for breath and he stood there, crowned in the dying light of the afternoon, a broken champion. He stood still for a moment, then, as a sob broke through, he dropped his sword and collapsed on the window bench, dropping his head into his hands. 

Percival forced himself up, telling himself the black spots dancing warningly at the edges of his vision were just an illusion, and staggered to Elyan, sinking down to his knees less than gracefully. He laid one hand on a clothed knee, bracing the other one against the floor as he panted for breath.

“We aren’t talking about Merlin anymore, are we?” He asked quietly, in between rapid breaths.

Elyan didn’t respond, but looked out the window and whispered, “How could I have not been there, Perce? Where was I when he needed me? Where was I when Gwen needed me?”

Percival didn’t have an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I offer only this as explanation-uni started back up and my responsibilities outside of my wonderful fictional realm have increased quite a bit. Now that I am on a more regular schedule, I hope this once-a-month thing to be an anomaly.
> 
> It is late (as always) and I must sleep before the morning, but I give this: my friends, times are difficult. There is little reassurance to be found. Yet we must persevere forward, for the only thing in the past are hard lessons to be learned which we cannot afford to repeat. Soldier on and believe that a brighter tomorrow will come at last. I so hope you all are well and I am slowly working through responding to all the comments-I promise I will get to all of them! <3 
> 
> Also, a massive thanks to Fallingtoast, who gave this wonderful artwork-well, I am inserting it into the last Gwaine/Leon chapter. Gorgeous artwork that is so appreciated and adored, thank you! <3 <3 <3


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, it's been far too long. Please accept my apologies. I do hope you enjoy this and that it was worth the wait! Hopefully next chapter will be up soon!

Arthur breathed in, smiling as he felt Merlin’s hair tickle his nose. The younger man was fast asleep, tipped back carefully into the king’s arms, head resting in the crook of Arthur’s neck. It was not the most comfortable position to hold for an extended period, but Arthur ignored the ache in his muscles in favour of closing his own eyes, reveling in holding Merlin close. The man in his arms was warm and content, totally relaxed and boneless. Arthur sighed. 

That was, naturally, when Gaius came barging back in, grumbling to himself all the way. “Fool knight. Should string the lot of them up for the wyverns-less work for me and they’d get their _heroic_ deaths!”

Arthur smothered a chuckle. “What’s that, Gaius?”

Gaius yelped, turning to face the king, looking somewhat abashed. He set down his medicine bag and looked over to where Merlin was resting in Arthur’s arms. Taking a good look for the first time, the physician’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.

“Getting cosy, are we, sire?” Gaius tapped his foot.

Arthur felt a deep blush come over his face, cheeks hot and pink. In response, though, he only clutched Merlin tighter to his chest, raising his chin. 

Seeing the defiant look, Gaius only sighed, coming closer to the small bed by the fire. “I assume I don’t have to tell you that Merlin is not up for…” he coughed delicately, “some of the more….strenuous activities?”

Arthur felt his face light on fire and his eyes went wide. He spluttered, “ _Gaius!_ I would _never!”_

Gaius chuckled ruthlessly. “Really, now? I think Merlin might be disappointed if that were true, Arthur.”

The king closed his eyes and groaned into Merlin’s neck. He could feel heat radiating from his neck and was sure he was bright red. 

“Gaius,” he pleaded, “tell me what it is you want me to say and I will _say it.”_

Gaius eyed the young man clutching his even younger protege, noting with a sort of self-satisfaction just how reddened Arthur’s face truly was. Gwaine would have loved to see it, Gaius noted. His heart pinged as he thought of just how much this group of men had been through in the week or so prior. Taking pity on Arthur, whose heart was likely to explode if he got any more flustered, Gaius smiled.

Instead of answering, Gaius drew close, placing a steady hand on Merlin’s forehead. He relaxed when he felt no heat, just sleep-warm skin. A check of Merlin’s pulse yielded good results and his breaths, though still a little strained from bad ribs, were even and deep. The healer sighed, relieved. 

Arthur remained quiet through the whole affair, only shuffling Merlin in his arms for Gaius to get better access. As the physician turned away, though, Arthur spoke up in a small voice.

“Is he going to be okay, Gaius?”

Gaius turned, startled, and looked back at Arthur, who held Merlin in his arms with such tenderness it made the old man’s heart ache. Foolish boys, he thought derisively, then softened in the face of such clear youthful love. He went back and placed a gentle hand on Arthur’s shoulder and looked him in the eyes.

“Yes, Arthur. Merlin’s going to be quite alright.” Gaius looked down at Merlin, whose mouth curved up happily at the corners, even in deep sleep.

The physician crossed to the fire, where a kettle hung on the side, waiting to be filled with water. Ignoring the stinging where cool iron met magical flesh, Gaius submerged the whole thing in a bucket of water sitting conveniently close. Being court physician did have its benefits and having fresh water delivered to his chambers daily was one of the biggest perks. 

Pulling it out of the water, Gaius hung the heavy kettle on a hook suspended over the fire, hearing the remaining moisture left on its surface hiss satisfyingly as flames licked the cool metal curiously. 

Arthur laid Merlin down carefully, arms protesting from how long they’d been clutched around the warlock’s sleeping body. He soothed Merlin as the man groaned faintly in protest, smoothing back black hair and tucking a thick woollen blanket around thin shoulders. Arthur noted with some degree of pleasure pink cheeks that for once had nothing to do with fever. He stretched, wincing as sore muscles pulled, but generally feeling better than he had since the entire disaster of a scouting mission had begun. 

“Here, Gaius, let me help you with that.” Arthur reached for the tea blend he knew the older man preferred.

  
  
  
  
  
\--------------------------  
  
  
  


“You once said you loved me far too much to betray me.” The quiet comment came suddenly out of the companionable silence Arthur and Gaius had fallen into around a pot of tea, thick chipped clay cups curled into hands. 

Gaius, brought out of his thoughts, looked up. Arthur didn’t meet his eyes, instead tracing the condensation left on the table from the steaming heat of the pot. 

“Yes, I did. I do.” Gaius brought the tea to his lips and sipped lightly, eyeing Arthur closely. 

Arthur sighed. “It’s nothing, really.” 

Gaius waited, swirling the leaves left at the bottom of his cup. 

Finally, the man sitting across from him looked up at him, worrying his bottom lip between teeth. Each word came out forced, as if it took great effort to get out. “Gaius, I need you to tell me something.”

Before Gaius could say anything, Arthur held up a hand, not unkindly, and added on firmly, “I need you to tell me the truth, even if you think it may hurt.”

He thought, then said quietly, “Even if it hurts both of us.”

Arthur set down his empty cup off to the side of the still-steaming pot and stretched his hands out flat on the rough wooden surface of the table. “Were there ever times you’d feared I would harm you, harm Merlin?”

His mouth was firm and set, but Gaius could see the vulnerability in his eyes shining through. Gaius tapped a finger on the table and set his own tea down as well. 

This would be no easy conversation. 

“Yes.” Gaius said quietly, honestly. “There were many days, particularly the summer before Merlin arrived in Camelot and his first year here following, that I feared you would follow in Uther’s footsteps.”

For that was the true question, wasn’t it?

Arthur swallowed hard, head dipping, and confessed, “I did.”

He looked at his hands, clenched them together, unfolded them, breathed out. “At least, for a while.”

Gaius nodded and said simply, “I know.”

Across from him, the young man (for he was young, so very young and scared that Gaius’s heart clenched) shuddered, breath hitching as he raked a hand through messy, sun-bright hair. 

“I killed so many innocents.” 

“You did.”

Arthur picked a leaf out of his cup, hands shaking, and played with it, not caring about the green stain it left on his skin as he crushed it between his fingertips. 

“I see their faces in my sleep,” he said, very very quietly, “I see them all and I wonder how I could ever have been so blind.”

Gaius gave neither comfort nor absolution. This was not a problem he could fix with his medicines or even his counsel. 

“You wanted to impress your father.”

Arthur made a noise of disbelief. “A man who slaughtered tens of thousands out of nothing but hatred! A man who ran his kingdom into ruin for the sake of his own power! A man who cared for no one but himself!” 

He broke off, shivering.

“No one but himself and you, Arthur.” Gaius said, finally reaching over and taking Arthur’s hands between his own, giving warmth to the cold fingers and palms.

“I still love him, Gaius.” Arthur’s voice became tearstained, thick and tortured.

“Gods help me, but I still love him, even after everything. Even after _all of it,”_ he gestured around him in a broad swoop, “all of _this,_ I still love him!”

He trembled, as if afraid of what the next question would reveal. “What kind of monster does that make me?”

Gaius smiled softly at him, clutching the hands in his grasp even tighter. “It makes you his son, Arthur.”

Before Arthur could pull away with hurt and confusion, before he could spiral into the guilt and self-loathing Gaius knew full well the man would fall into, he spoke. 

“Uther was not a kind man and his paranoia led him down a path that was dark and evil. He cared naught for the suffering of others, saw only possibilities for greater avenues towards power where there was oppression and hatred.” 

Gaius looked up to see Arthur staring at their clasped hands and felt the young man’s hands tighten around his own as they had when he was a small boy, asking for comfort from the physician when Uther would offer none.

“Arthur, you know yourself as well as anyone how cruel he could be, even to those he loved most in the world. Even to the one person he loved with all of his heart.” Gaius had tended those lash marks, cursing Uther’s name beneath his breath as he’d cleaned the tattered skin of Arthur’s back. Twenty lashes were far too much for a boy the age of fourteen, no matter the crime. 

Arthur hunched in on himself, looking very small. “I disobeyed him. I-” 

He was cut off as Gaius interjected kindly, “You _disagreed_ with him in an attempt to spare the life of a child.”

Arthur said miserably, “I didn’t think it would end up with the girl’s punishment being worsened.”

He said thickly, “I didn’t think he would have done what he did to her.”

Being pulled apart by horses, then fed to the wolves outside the city, was no fair punishment for a girl all of ten summers.

“She had magic.” Gaius reminded him.

“Yes,” Arthur lifted his head to argue, “but she had used it to steal bread, Gaius.” 

He closed his eyes, recalling the terror on her face as she was hauled in front of the crowds and ropes were tied to her limbs. 

“She was so small, so pale. They had to find finer rope, because it kept slipping off her when they tried to tie it tight.”

It had taken two hours, five horses, and the manual dislocation by executioner of all four of her limbs before the girl’s body had finally split into four pieces, her voice giving out long before her body. 

Gaius shuddered himself, remembering her screams echoing in the courtyard. “Uther had you watch, then kneel in her blood as you were whipped.”

Arthur nodded. Once he’d been aware of anything again after the whipping, it had taken him months to feel clean again. “I gave her a worse death because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

“No,” Gaius corrected him sharply, “ _Uther_ was afraid he was losing control over your mind and heart and so attempted to traumatise you into maintaining his order.”

Arthur shook his head. “I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

Gaius got up, hearing his bones click as they resettled, and motioned for Arthur to scoot over. Confused, the young king did as requested.

Once sat next to his golden boy, so different from his Merlin and yet so precious still, Gaius took hold of Arthur’s hands once again. There would be no escaping. He willed Arthur to _hear him._ “You did what was _right,_ Arthur. You, a fourteen year-old boy raised to hate all users of magic, did what was _right,_ in a courtyard and castle filled to the brim with adults who knew it was wrong and _said nothing.”_

Gaius sucked in a breath. “Including me.” 

Before Arthur could argue that last point, Gaius went on, “You suffered the brunt of his anger, Arthur, in ways no son should. That was _not your fault.”_

Tears formed in Arthur’s eyes. He looked so lost that Gaius’s heart ached for him. “I hurt _so many people,_ Gaius.”

Gaius didn’t disagree with him. “Yes, you did. You’d been hurt as well and taught that causing pain was the pathway to earning love-which you should have been given freely. You made your choices and many of them caused destruction, but you were never given the chance to come to those choices by yourself.”

Arthur shuddered violently, tears slipping down his cheeks even as he tried to fight them off, and Gaius slipped a strong arm around his broad shoulders. “You love him because he was your father. You love him because he loved you, even if he sought to use that love to mold you into a vision of himself.”

For the first time in a number of years, Arthur leaned into Gaius, seeking support and comfort as he had once as a child living under Uther’s strict and vicious tutelage. Gaius gave it to him gladly, murmuring words of love and care, stroking the golden hair back. This was his prince, the boy he’d spent hours in the nursery caring for, the child who’d collected bits of random greenery and woven clumsily into a bouquet for the old physician, the little shining one-day-a-king who he’d watched over and cared for years before Merlin ever arrived to become his son. 

They stayed like that for a long while, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went AWOL for two months, I'm sorry. It's not particularly important why-I have been struggling with my own life and did not have the energy to write. I've tried to write this chapter so many different ways, with different plotlines and different characters, but this is the only way that felt right, even if it isn't perfect. This chapter, in many ways, reminds me of the complex and often painful relationship I had with my own father, though he was certainly not a violent man. I loved and still do love my father deeply, but the pain he caused to others-and to me, though he loved me more than anyone-is something I still struggle with, several years after his passing. 
> 
> He was not a good husband, nor a good father. Still, he loved me and I loved him. I had always dreamt of moments I knew I could not have with him-him meeting my future spouse, my children, even just attending my little events. He wasn't able to protect me from the world and so that job often fell to me. I learned to be adult in ways I wasn't prepared for, still am not prepared for. Even though he was my father, I felt it my responsibility to protect him, even from himself. In that, I failed him. It is difficult to confront the reality of life, especially when you are a person who wants nothing more than to be free to inspire and lead. I've always been afraid that the issues plaguing him will come back to haunt me, because I am his daughter and very much like him in many respects.
> 
> So, in any case, it's been a very difficult few months and sometimes it was all I could do just to complete the most basic of my responsibilities. I wanted Arthur to have time to reflect with someone he trusted on the goods and bads of his father-very few people are just one thing. Uther was a terrible man and not a good father, but he did love Arthur, in his own way. Everyone else has had chances to just breathe (well, maybe except for poor Perce), but Arthur's been struggling under the weight of everything without me even noticing. So, Gaius and Arthur bonding time. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy and that you are all well and safe.
> 
> Times are very difficult. It is hard to find hope in a world like this, sometimes. Still, when you cannot find it outside, look within yourself. You are stronger than the way you feel and more capable than you give yourself credit for. Look inside for resilience and maybe you'll find your strength once again. Until then, I offer my own, if it is of any help. Be safe. Be well.

**Author's Note:**

> 🌸🌸🌸

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Broken Pieces](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23884504) by [Sunfall_of_Ennien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfall_of_Ennien/pseuds/Sunfall_of_Ennien)




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